Firewall
by Captain Alice Hook
Summary: Being at the wrong place at the wrong time has never ended well. But Emma thoroughly believed it had never before ended someone *in* the wrong time. What's a cop to do when women suddenly have no rights and everyone is running around with swords? They don't even have coffee! And then there is this guy, who's just begging to be strangled. History will never be the same. Altair/OC
1. Don't Listen to Crazy

_**BWD:** I'm baaaaaaack! And yes, THIS is the AC brainchild I've been working on for...months. No, I have not given up on NRFTW, it's just on temporary hiatus until I can get a better game plan for it, I feel as though the current one lacks...something, it's not what the fic deserves. In the meantime we have this baby, which I can promise is not going to follow the game explicitly. It will go far beyond the game, and deeper into the cracks within, and not everything will be as we know it, because...well history is never going to be the same._

 _A huge shout-out to the two crazy ladies that nourished and encouraged this fic, without you TK and Wolf, this never would have happened!_

 _Without further ado...I give you the first chapter of Firewall! Don't Listen to Crazy_

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Emma had known this was a bad idea. No, it was an insanely _stupid_ , hair-brained and potentially career-ending idea. Still she had done it. Still she had _broken into_ one of the biggest companies in the country to look for evidence of illegal activity on a tip from some crazy woman in her house.

Now she was here, head pounding and fuzzy, hands and legs bound and not entirely sure where in the building she was other than a dark room. Her gun was still on her belt but she couldn't reach it and whoever had knocked her out had left her alone. That didn't bode well for any sort of a future for her.

This was Abstergo, and the things she'd already heard and seen here proved they weren't about to let a cop just walk out. She really should have thought this one through better…

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 _ **Two Weeks Before…**_

"Why….do…they….always….run!?" Emma huffed as she hoofed it down the street after the perp who'd decided to test if he was the faster. Her partner was right at her side, arms pumping as he tried to keep up.

"Maybe…because…you…always…dare…them…too?!" Eliot responded between pants, very nearly tripping in attempting to mimic the sharp turn down the alley their runner had taken.

The woman growled as she struggled to increase her pace, trying to narrow the distance before this turned into a challenge of stamina. She had the fighter build, not the running, her sprints could only last so long and she could already feel herself tiring. Damn it.

Their car prowler was just beyond arm's reach, so Emma mentally said 'screw it' and dove, full-body tackling him to the ground right there in the mouth of the alley. The people along the streets scattered in surprise, a few yelling 'police brutality!' (mindless idiots) and taking out their phones to try to record something newsworthy.

Emma ignored them in favor of yanking the arms of the man beneath her behind him and slamming the cuffs onto his wrists. Almost immediately the man was spitting insults and curses as she got up and hauled him to his feet with her partner.

"You have the right to remain silent, please for the love of God do so, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney if you can keep one with that mouth; seriously man do you kiss your mother with that mouth? If you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights or was it too complicated?" She chatted as she pushed him back the way they had come and towards the awaiting cruiser and his ride to jail.

Her partner barked a laugh, clapping her on the shoulder as he took up a spot on their suspect's other side. "Always the smartass aren't you Harp?"

The man in cuffs was less enthused, and his 'yes' was hidden amongst a new slew of things even Emma wouldn't repeat (and that wasn't much). She chose to ignore him in favor of winking at the other officer. "It's a condition, the incurable disease of no filter."

Eliot quirked a brow at her, "And yet it's everyone else that has to suffer the symptoms."

She smirked as they reached the cruiser and their new catch was put in the back, barely resisting the urge to not duck his head far enough. Ah, but he'd at least been creative with his insults so the woman gave him a pass for it.

"714 what's your status?" The radios cackled to life and while climbing into the passenger seat—apparently totaling the last cruiser in a high-speed pursuit made her partner ban her from driving—Emma grabbed hers to respond.

"We have the 10-14 in custody."

"We've got a 10-15 for you to pick up on the way." Emma quirked a brow at her partner, they usually didn't like more than one person in the back unless absolutely necessary.

"You want us to pick up a suspect when we have one already?"

"Affirmative." Dispatch rattled off an address that was smack between where they were and the station. "Unit 643 detained, needs transport."

"10-4." Emma agreed, 643 was a two-door cruiser, and the two suspects would only be riding together for a maximum of five minutes and the other nearest available four-door was at least thirty minutes out given New York traffic.

"Abstergo? Who the hell tries to burglarize that place?" Her partner asked as he pulled onto the road and into the slowly moving mass of cars.

She shrugged, glancing back at their catch in the backseat with a grin "Who prowls a parking lot that has a cruiser sitting in it?"

The man in question responded with another bout of swearing that had the other giving her a dry look, "Must you always rile them up?"

She smirked.

When they arrived at the front of the building where the Mustang cruiser was parked, of all the suspects they would be taking in, Emma hardly expected the one they got. The woman was at best 5'5" with red streaked, brunette hair and an overall build that while generous in the assets department had her looking even smaller. All in all, not exactly their usual burglar type. She was also in the opposite state of their other suspect. Calm, compliant and looking utterly relaxed, Emma didn't even have to lead her over, the woman just climbed into the backseat as if she wasn't handcuffed and climbing into a limo. The blonde officer had never been more confused.

Must be the only way to cope with this, unless she'd been through it before? Emma shrugged it off, figuring she'd find out when the woman's prints were run at the station. It was much the same when they arrived there. While she let Eliot wrestle the prowler through the doors, the brunette said not a word and just strolled into the building with no prompting.

She was placed in the holding cell with the other women of the night and Emma dropped into her chair at her desk to start on some reports while the last minutes of her shift ticked away. The news was running on repeat, playing old stories that only got mentions at 1 a.m. and the officer only half-paid attention to it.

' _It's been a year and still authorities have no answers to the whereabouts of American student Sophie Parker, who disappeared while abroad on vacation in Scotland. She has been presumed dead though her family still holds on to hope.'_ A photo of a brunette accompanied the newscast and Emma pointed at it as her partner dropped into his seat across from her.

"That's why I don't travel."

He snorted in return, having been one of those that backpacked through Europe before settling into a career. Constantly he tried to hound her into 'doing something exciting and crazy' with her life (seriously, was being a NYC cop not enough?!), even going so far as to enter her into whatever travel drawings he could find just to get on her nerves. Ass.

"Really though, Scotland is gorgeous, some of those old castles would blow your mind. I tried looking for hidden passageways but I never could find any." He pouted in mock disappointment—or real, there was no telling with this guy—before waving his hand. "Ah, I'll get you abroad at some point. Everyone should travel at least once in their life. You've never even been out of the state!"

Emma took offense to that, "Hey! I helped with that transport to Maine!"

He rolled his eyes, "Sitting on a bus that drove straight through does not count and you were back within 24 hours. I mean an actual _vacation_ , you do know what those are right?"

She threw a pen at him.

An hour later and Emma drug herself through her apartment's front door, kicking off her shoes and leaving her duffel right where it fell without a care. She was exhausted and more than ready for at least ten hours of shuteye and a weekend of doing nothing. Her belt, uniform top and Kevlar vest found their way to the couch, leaving her in a black tank top and pants.

Food was something that could wait until morning, but a drink would do the trick of unwinding her before bed. Shuffling to the kitchen, she pulled out a beer from the fridge and relished in the long drag she took from it. She'd only turned on one lamp in the living room so the place was relatively dark still, not that she cared. No she wouldn't be awake for too much longer, not enough to warrant turning anymore lights on anyway.

Perhaps she should have.

Raising the bottle to her lips a second time, she froze as the hairs on her neck stood on end. Her gut told her something wasn't right, she wasn't alone, and suddenly she very much felt the lack of her belt on her hips.

Softly setting the beer on the counter to avoid making a sound, she crept to the entryway of the kitchen and peaked around the corner. Not seeing anyone in that line of sight, she made the decision to go for it. Having no idea where the intruder was, Emma took no chance and dove straight for the couch and her gun.

She didn't even get close when strong arms latched around her waist, hauled her back and shoved her against the wall, one hand clamping over her mouth while the rest of a firm body pressed against her and kept her effectively trapped.

"…Was that entirely necessary?" A female voice sounded from somewhere behind the man pinning Emma, the single lamp lighting up the second intruder's face while throwing shadows over the first. The cop blinked, stunned to see the tiny brunette from earlier standing in her living room when she explicitly remembered leaving her in the holding cell just an hour ago.

"Did you want to find out if she would shoot first the hard way?" The man responded dryly, his voice thick with an accent she couldn't place.

"Seriously? She's a cop, I really don't think she would have just shot us once she saw we were unarmed." The woman snipped back with a roll of her eyes, "Plus we kind of need her to trust us and now that's going to be difficult."

The man's hand lifted from her mouth as he partially turned his head to regard his partner, the light catching on a scar that ran across his nose. "Just be your charming self, Tristan, that seems to work."

Emma could practically hear the smirk in the man's voice and the initial spike of adrenaline and fear was quickly being replaced by concerned confusion. The other woman's hands planted on her hips, "It would be a lot easier if _you_ would be your 'charming' self, Rico."

"You were in jail." Her shock however, was taking a little longer to wear off it seemed, though the responses of amused grins was not exactly the attention she'd expected. But then, none of this B&E was going like anyone would expect.

'Tristan' gave what was probably meant to be a helpless shrug, "Hubby didn't like that I was arrested and sprung me."

This…..this crazy couple was an actual couple. Somehow that was the least surprising fact of the day. 'Rico' snorted, "Which, by the way, I never got to say 'I told you so' for that."

The woman gave an indignant huff, "One time, ONE, and you always say I'm going to get caught."

The European—he had to be from somewhere around there—turned his head more to give his woman a deadpanned expression. "I seem to recall several instances of you needing a rescue."

Emma was at a loss at this point, still pinned to the wall by a ridiculously built foreigner who was having a lover's spat with his crazy wife. How did something like this even happen? No one was ever going to believe her.

"Why the hell are you here?" She finally cut in, not willing to find out just how long they would keep going with that.

"Before we get to that, Rico be a good boy and drop her already!" The woman huffed in exasperation, hands planting on her hips.

"Ah, apologies signora, I did not want you to shoot us before we could talk." The man released her and backed away, though, Emma noted sourly, stayed between her and her gun.

Tristan held up a stack of files, commanding the officer's attention again. She recognized the stamp on the folders immediately and narrowed her eyes. "Where did you get those?"

The woman gave a sheepish shrug, "Your desk but that's not what's important! I can help you solve them, or, well, tell you what you're missing."

Emma raised an expectant brow, arms crossed over her chest. It was obvious that for whatever crackpot reason or excuse for why they were here, it was not to harm her, so she let herself relax somewhat and yearn for the beer still on the counter. She had a feeling she was going to need it before this night was finished.

"They all have something in common," She doubted that, she'd gone over those with a fine-toothed comb along with the detective actually assigned the cases. There was nothing connecting them. "Abstergo."

Emma blinked a few times, her brow rising higher in disbelief. Absolutely none of those people had been involved with the entertainment company. Well, one may have worked for them but that was it. The brunette handed the files back, each a little thicker than they had been when they 'left' the precinct.

"Just…give it a look at least."

The cop took them, warily glancing over at the man who had retreated to stand next to his wife, and whose attention seemed to be more on the décor of her apartment than of what was currently going on before him. She didn't open the files though, not yet. First she had to know something else. "Why me?"

 _That_ got the man's attention back on the conversation, and his gaze went straight to Tristan and stayed there. Emma thought she saw curiosity mixed with a warning in his expression, and that made her own intrigue peaked more.

Tristan shrugged, "You haven't been bought, and you can get what you need with this."

Briefly Emma flipped through the added papers, it was all circumstantial, nothing hard hitting. Anything for a slam dunk case (which they would need against such a company, cops so much as breathed near them and they lawyered up), would have to be gathered directly from the company building. "You know the only way I can get anything viable in court is illegal right?"

Tristan raised a challenging brow, "Has that stopped you before?"

The cop scrunched her nose up, glancing back at the papers in her hands, "I don't want to know how you know that."

"We have been watching you." Rico finally spoke again, shrugging his shoulders loosely with a half grin.

Emma gave him a flat stare, "I said I _didn't_ want to know. Now why bring this to me like….this. Why not just bring it in to the precinct like _normal_ people?"

Not that she was under any sort of illusion that the two before her were anywhere close to normal but still, the point remained. If they really wanted her help they could have brought it to her in a way that didn't make her immediately suspicious. Tristan waved her hand towards the files, "Like I said, you haven't be bought, unlike others."

"And do you have any sort of proof that my brothers have been?" She growled back, she liked most of those in her precinct, and she was not going to just stand by and let someone accuse them of taking payouts.

"It's all there." She glanced down at the files in her hands, finally curiosity winning out long enough for her to flip through them. Bank statements from several of the other officers, with suspiciously large and periodic deposits, no wonder Davis was able to afford that new car…

"What's in it for…..shit." She looked up only to find the two invaders gone, disappeared out however they had come in with nothing to show for their presence but the pages in her hands. And a picture on the wall that was crooked.

Sighing, she raked a hand through her hair, returned to the kitchen long enough to grab her beer and sat at the table. Sleep would have to wait. When she did finish analyzing everything in those folders a few hours later, Emma was still unsure of what to do about the information. Sure some of the cops were corrupt, but it still didn't answer what Abstergo had to do with missing people, there was definitely something shady about it all though. Her gut told her to do one thing while her head said it was stupid.

"It's too late for this crap." She muttered, squinting out towards the slowly lightening sky. Damn, it was already morning. Oh well, she'd double the coffee for today then, and get some advice about her conflicting choices…

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"You are insane."

Emma frowned over her fourth (or was it fifth?) cup of caffeinated glory at her friend. The redhead was always blunt and honest and…well the blonde really shouldn't be all that surprised this was her response. So she shrugged, "Someone has to figure out what's going on there and obviously I can't use the usual channels. Not only do they have over half the force on their payroll, but they lawyer up the second they feel someone looking at them. I'd never get close."

Catherine eyed the coffee in Emma's hands with disapproval. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

The cop's sheepish grin was answer enough, and Cat's stare narrowed as she asked, "When was the last time you ate something?"

Emma opened her mouth to give a snappy response of 'This morning thank-you-very-much' before snapping her lips shut. She hadn't eaten that morning…or last night for that matter. Uneasily chuckling as she rubbed the back of her neck she admitted, "Um…I had a bag of popcorn the other night."

She barely dodged the redhead's hand coming around to smack her head, "Hey! I get into work and forget sometimes!"

"Your self-preservation is shit you know that right?" Her friend stated dryly, sipping at her own hot chocolate. How the woman could drink cocoa in the middle of June Emma had no idea, it was just one of her quirks.

The blonde smirked, "What self-preservation?"

Cat' was unimpressed, "I know you won't listen to me if I try to talk you out of it but just text me so I know you're alive. Or if you need bail."

The redhead snorted into her drink, "That'll be a first, bailing out a cop."

Emma glared for a brief moment before shrugging with the beginnings of a sly grin, "Maybe, if your Italian boy-toy will allow you out of the bedroom. Frankly I'm surprised you were able to get away for this long. Tire him out enough last night?"

The redhead's cheeks soon matched her hair and this time the cop wasn't fast enough to dodge the swipe aimed at her. "You shut it or we'll have to find you a boyfriend."

Emma laughed, leaning back and slouching in her seat slightly as she threw her friend a wink, "Honey you know I don't do boyfriends, but if you're looking to distract me for a night or two feel free to send an Italian my way. Those men are studs, not that you don't already know that from _extensive_ experience."

Ah it was so easy to get her far more conservative friend blushing, and oh so entertaining. It was true though, she had seen less of Cat since her thing with her boyfriend started getting serious, the level of which Emma had no desire or time for. Really, she was a cop, her work _was_ her life, relationships fell by the wayside. Which left the brief flings to satisfy the need and that worked well enough for her. Romance was meant for _other_ people.

The conversation went downhill fast from there before moving onto other things and soon enough it was time to part ways, with Emma promising to at least attempt to keep herself alive and out of jail whenever she went through with her hair-brained plan. Now it was just a matter of working out the details.

That…was not her strong suit. The blonde was far more a 'just do it and see what happens' kind of person, her planning ahead consisted of a general 'get from point A to point B'. But breaking into Abstergo was no simple task, so Emma spent the next several days scoping it out and working on her plan for entry. The place was solid and secured at all times of the day, it was going to be tricky, but the cop had a few ideas.

If her partner noticed she was quieter than usual he made no comment on it.

A week later, a car pulled from the junkyard (paid in cash of course and handled with gloves) was parked on the sloped road a block from the front of the building, sketchy brakes the only thing holding it from rolling uncontrolled down the hill. Emma herself wasn't entirely sure how well this would work but it should do the trick to get her into the building and that was all she really cared about at this point.

Using binoculars, she checked and ensured the front area of the building was clear of visible people. The oncoming road was likewise clear (as it tended to be at two in the morning), and with a silent crossing of her fingers, Emma knocked the car into neutral and jumped out of its way. It cruised down the hill, bumping off the curb a few times as it picked up speed. Missing a power pole by a hair, it sailed past the potential obstacles and slammed home into the glass doors of Abstergo, sending off alarms and people running about in confusion as shards flew every which way. Perfect.

Not two minutes later her radio cackled to life and units were dispatched to respond; she was off duty of course, but whoever notices one more uniform wandering around? She waited until the patrol cars arrive, and even then she gave them a handful more moments until at least five other officers were floating to and from, trying to figure out exactly what had happened and where the nonexistent driver was. Only then did she slip onto the scene. No one paid her any attention. Not the security of the company that couldn't tell one cop from another and not from the uniforms that simply assumed she'd been in the area and came to help out.

Slipping into an empty hallway, she made her way deeper and higher into the building, not entirely sure exactly what she was looking for or where to find it, but trusting her gut to lead her in the right direction. Her ploy had effectively cleared out not only the first but parts of the second and third floors. It wasn't until the fourth that she had to duck into a storage room to avoid being seen, and on the fifth she had to hold her breath and it was still by luck she slipped by.

A company like Abstergo left the bottom floors for its more public work, the upper floors, however, would house the more secretive parts that to a cop, was buried in pricey lawyers.

If they had anything to do with people getting snatched off the streets however, Emma wasn't about to sit around and wait for that losing battle. Avoiding cameras and people alike, she made it to the eighth floor before finding her way blocked.

"Damn it." She hissed to herself, the eye scanner and keypad an unexpected obstacle. The ninth floor and above was cut off, and she wasn't prepared tonight to attempt to break through it.

With a light huff she turned back to the previous floor, hoping there would be some evidence against this company she could use in order to get past the lawyers and gain access to the top floors. There had to be _something_ up here she could use.

Most of the lights were off, only a few illuminating the hall and only a handful of people still floating around. She managed to slip past them, carefully avoiding cameras as she went deeper into the building. Getting out may be a bitch, but she'd worry about that later.

Voices came from down the hall, muffled but getting closer. Emma ducked into an open door and wedged herself between file cabinets, straining her ears to try to make out what they were saying.

With the relatively empty floor, the two men didn't make a strained effort to keep their voices quiet, who else would hear them after all? "Where are we with Subject 17's blood?"

"Getting worse." The other huffed, shuffling papers, "The memories in his DNA are deteriorating faster than we thought, already parts of Ezio's are inaccessible."

The other sounded shocked, "How are we losing that already? Those were some of the strongest!"

Second man paused, and Emma risked a peak to see him glancing around wearily. She quickly ducked back, hoping he hadn't spotted her. For a breath, she thought he had, but then he continued, "There's talk that blood memories are only viable when the subject is alive. New blood from the subject's body is exhibiting the same deterioration, as are the samples we took when he was alive."

The first huffed, "So we will somehow have to find another descendant and hope this one doesn't die in the process."

Emma sucked in a breath at all of this as the two men continued on down the hall and out of hearing range. She couldn't exactly grasp what the hell it was they were talking about, but it sounded a lot like human experimentation, and it was proving lethal. The crazy chick in her apartment was right.

But what the hell did an entertainment business have to experiment that needed blood and caused death?!

Whatever it was, Emma was going to find out.

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"I was told this one was not going to be a problem." A dark-haired man growled as he watched the cop hiding from two employees on the security feed. For the most part she had avoided being caught on camera, but she'd missed the hidden ones put up for just this kind of thing. No one got into Abstergo without being seen at some point, but the fact that she had gotten so far irritated him. Incompetent fools. He could only hope they were bright enough to not discuss confidential information in the open like that, he rather doubted it.

"I'm sorry Sir." A lacky whose name he never bothered to learn stuttered behind him, "She must have slipped past the security working the car accident. She should not have gotten this far."

"And yet she has." Otto snapped, no longer believing what was going on on the first floor was a simple 'accident'. No, there'd been too many inquiries by the police department lately for this to have been an accident. Ballsy, if not incredibly stupid. "I want this dealt with, now."

"Of course, sir." The smaller man bowed, turning to leave before hesitating, "H-how?"

Otto raised his brows at the man, was the answer really not obvious? "B-But sir, there will be a big investigation if a cop is killed, and surely the others downstairs saw her here?"

The man in charge sighed, resisting the urge to pinch his brows. He was surrounded by idiots.

"I don't want you to kill her." He snapped, "Check her finances, most cops can be bought for a low price. If not…"

He paused, letting it hang in the air for a moment. "Do not let her leave, we will figure out what to do with her should the need arise."

The lacky nodded, bowed again and bid a hasty retreat. Otto ignored his exit as his phone rang and he put it to his ear with a brisk, "What?"

The voice on the other end rattled off some new information and his previous sour mood took a turn upwards. He hung up with what passed as his smile, no longer agitated about the turn of the night's events.

No, he was not too angry about this, not when he had a secret project that was ready for testing again, and this unwitting officer had just volunteered herself to be the guinea pig. There would be no use for a bribe now, he mused with a dark smirk, she would not be leaving here tonight, or any other night.

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 ** _BWD:_** _Whelp, there's the first chapter! I hope it peaks some interest and you'll stick around to give her a shot! My theory with Abstergo is they had the ability to see the ancestral memories through just the blood of their subjects, it was just...a lot harder and spendier, hence the kidnapping descendants. Anyways, please drop a review and let me know what you think!_

 _As for a particular brunette with streaks? Well you may recognize the lovely lady from Topkicker26's fic Nemesis (which she finally posted, woot woot! Seriously, go check it out, Federico Auditore gets some much needed love from a sassy lady). And the red-headed Cat is of course the one and only TM Wolf's Chronos OC. Fun cameos because our trio wouldn't exist without each other and because reasons. :D_


	2. The Cat is Out But You're In the Bag Now

**UPDATE: As I was (finally) working on chapter 3, I came back and noticed a rather important line got cut/incompleted. Whoopsie. It has now been fixed!**

 _Without further ado, enjoy the next chapter of Firewall! The Cat is Out, But You're in the Bag Now_

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Emma had a nagging feeling creeping up her neck as she started rooting through whatever file drawers would open. She couldn't leave though, not yet, not without some hard evidence that would get her the warrant she needed to thoroughly search the rest of the building. Her word against theirs wouldn't do her any good when she would not be able to explain exactly where she was when she heard such information. No judge would sign off on _that_.

So she was left to scramble up _something_ , though the feeling only continued to get worse. 'Cop Sense' her Dad had called it, and it had been in the family ever since they first started wearing a badge some generations back. It had never led them astray, and had been the reason many of them made it to retirement.

Emma chose to ignore it for this exact moment, choosing instead to pick the lock of the secured cabinets. There had to be some sort of paper trail for what the company had been up to, she only hoped there were hardcopies somewhere. She lacked the time and skill to hack their computers.

With a frustrated huff, the locked drawers provided nothing beyond Abstergo's financial reports. Not a damn thing in this room could be used to get her warrant.

The feeling grew to the point she could no longer ignore it, and, checking to be sure the hall was clear, slipped out. She was loathe to give up tonight, but she'd already spent nearly an hour in this building, spending more was tempting fate beyond reason.

So she headed for the stairwell to go back to the first floor. There would still be a cop or two downstairs finishing the last of the paperwork for the mess she'd created, with luck she could slip out unnoticed.

Her sense told her to duck; she did, but her reaction was just a moment too slow.

Pain exploded across her head and her world tilted and dimmed. Did he hit her with a brick or something?! Bastard. She pitched forward, unable to stop herself or cling to consciousness.

* * *

"Son of a _bitch_." Emma hissed when she came to, head pounding and vision fuzzy as she tried to reach up and rub her abused body. Only her arm refused to budge, and a tight rubbing around her wrists clued her in that her hands were bound behind her. Damn. Shifting, she managed to get herself at least sitting up, cursing at finding her ankles bound as well. Shit, shit, shit, _shit._

The room…closet…wherever they had thrown her was dark, empty and utterly bare of discernable details other than two doors on either end. Altogether not something that bode well for her, especially considering they had left her gun at her hip. Unreachable, it was as useless as the knife strapped to her ankle, or the pepper spray that never left her desk.

"Ah finally awake I see." A male voice made her jump and awkwardly attempt to turn to face him. She achieved at least twisting partially to face him, cursing herself for not hearing the door open. She squinted at him, head pounding even worse as she forced the part of her Cop Sense she could control to work. Very faintly, the man outlined in red. "You have become a colossal pain you know."

He was musing, like one who was acknowledging the irritation of an itch on the nose. Emma ground her teeth together as he continued, "First you were simply an annoyance, but now I can only wonder what it is I can do with you."

Her blood ran cold at what he was insinuating, and she worked at her wrists more than ever, rubbing the skin raw. A little pain would be well worth her life. His brows raised slightly, and he almost seemed…. _amused_ at her attempts. "Lucky for you, a…complication has arisen, and we have use of you yet. The struggling will need to cease."

She glared at him, tugging at her wrists more, attempting to work the knot loose without being able to see it. He sighed, as if dealing with a petulant child. Did he honestly believe she would stop fighting to get free just because he said she was 'some use' to them?! HA! She'd rather not be anyone's plaything thank-you-very-much.

"I did offer you the easy route." He grabbed a handful of her blonde hair, yanking her head back and holding it steady as he pulled a syringe from his pocket and injected it into her neck.

The effect was almost immediate, her head felt light and woozy, and her body stopped responding to her commands. Whatever it was was knocking her on her ass. Bastard.

In the haze that followed, she blearily made out another man entering the room, and the vague feeling of being lifted and moving. She could not move on her own, and at best her vision was blurred beyond recognizing the shapes of people. Her hearing had not been impaired, though it took her several seconds longer to process exactly what they were saying.

"Take her to thirteenth floor, into the testing room." The original voice commanded.

The one carrying her shifted, and her body swung limply against him, his shoulder digging into her gut. "The Firewall project? It is operational again? I thought the last test had split the dog in half."

Great. Fantastic. She was going to be a fucking _guinea pig_ for something that would most likely kill her.

The first man didn't make a sound, but he did something that had the other backtracking. "I am sorry Sir, it will be done."

Not another word was spoken as they continued to the elevator, up too many floors and then down another hall. Emma was too delirious to make any sense of the direction other than the _wrong way_. She had to go _that_ way, back, the way they'd come. Whatever awaited her would be terrible; there was no doubt about that.

She was set down on a platform of some sort, her body slumping against the back of the tubular structure built around it. It was probably some sort of machine based on the humming around her, but Emma's vision was too blurred to make any of it out. Her bound hands were freed, but when she tried to twitch a finger, it was a very slow, languid move. It was something, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Several people were moving around, talking to each other about data, the latest fixes and tests but it was a mash of gibberish that went right over her confused head. Lights flashed, commands were shouted and the people moved about in such an organized fashion that Emma had the strange thought of looking at an anthill, everyone doing their jobs with precision and efficiency.

"Do we have them?" One voice drifted over to her, clearer over the rest.

"Yes, the journals of both Cesare and Rodrigo, as you requested." Another responded. Who? Why the fuck would anyone want someone's journal?

"Excellent, let us begin."

Computers chirped, alarms sounded and the anthill moved faster as every one of them cleared out, leaving her completely alone. She closed her eyes. Her hand twitched. It wasn't enough.

A low hum vibrated the platform and the structure she was leaned against, and she idly thought how she would be the first cop in the family to die before retirement and what a shame it was that they would lose that bragging right. Even her brother had survived war in the Middle East, but not her. No, she goes out following the advice of a loon. And the Darwin award goes to…

A kaleidoscope of blurring colors and shapes swam before her eyes as the room spun. The humming grew louder and heat seared her skin, as if she was standing too close to a fire. She shifted away from it, but the flames leapt at her from every direction. It was too hot, she thought for sure at any second she would feel her skin begin to burn.

If this was to be the end, then damn it she was going to see what she could of it. There was no fire, in fact it was nearly dark, with small spots of light flickering here and there. Her vision was getting better, but it was still impossible to make out the details beyond buildings, shingled roofs and brightly dressed shapes that could have been people. Everything was dim in the darkness, and it was only when the shapes passed by the tiny spots of light that she could see any colors. People. They had to be. Where was she? This wasn't Abstergo.

She opened her mouth to call to them, for help, but when her lips parted, no sound came and the heat returned. Blinking, the city was gone, darkness replaced by blinding light and a freezing chill swept over her in an instant. What the fuck?

The metal structure she had been leaned against, that had been replaced by cool stone, now felt like rough bark. She tipped her head back, body shivering as her arms twitched to try and wrap around herself. The sun was high but offered no warmth, only reflecting miserably off of a cold white that blanketed everything. Snow? But it was _June_!

What could only be trees surrounded her, trees and snow. Cold wracked through her again, water seeping into her clothes. She was grateful for the invisible fire to claim her again.

Her movements were slow and sluggish, but at least she could control her body when she blinked again and found herself leaning against a dusty structure in the dim light of dusk. Small pebbles and sand scraped against her palms as she tried to push herself up straight. She only half succeeded, and let herself slump back against the wall, waiting for the heat to claim her again and continue this hallucination.

It did not come.

She even blinked, closed her eyes for a full minute, but still the only warmth that touched her was what was left in the air after a hot day, cooling as night staked its claim but comfortable still. Her heart pounded like war drums in her ears as she opened her eyes and made out the same dusty structure in front of her as had been there a minute ago. Where was the lab? Where was the Abstergo goons? She was completely alone in this alley, in a place that was most certainly _not_ New York City.

When night completely fell, there was not even the small flickering lights that there had been in the city, the moon was absent and darkness reigned so supreme she could not make out a single fuzzy object. With the sedative still flowing through her veins, Emma let herself fall against the wall and rest, hoping dawn would bring answers, and an escape home.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Otto slammed a fist against the one-way window with a growl as lights flashed and alarms blared. "Damn it! What went wrong?"

It hadn't been their first human test, no, captured Assassins had been elected for the very first trials, and none of them had made it, neither had the beasts they'd used when they ran out of captives. This one, according to the readings, was alive at least, so there was progress. But the damn thing was off.

"I don't know. All of the preliminary checks went fine, it was set to your precise date and location, everything was normal until it tried stabilizing her." One of the lead engineers on the project rattled as she rushed into the testing chamber, pulling up the data on the machine's computer itself.

"It was accurate the first was it not?" Otto asked, following the most competent scientist in the room. None of the others were even brave enough to look at him, idiots. Robin Kelly had no such cares about his authority. Her life was her work, and right now it was this project and this machine. She would get it functioning if it was the last thing she did.

"It was." She answered after a minute, looking at the readouts, "It was exactly accurate, 1475, Florence, the alley across from the home of Uberto. It was perfect, it had her stabilized to 90 percent before it glitched."

"Where did it glitch to?" The equations she was reading was only somewhat recognizable to him. She'd done all the coding in her own personal language, so that no other—namely the Assassins—could never duplicate it. As such, even Otto knew only little of it.

The screen she was reading flashed more numbers. "The middle of the Russian forests, 1307, it only reached 70 percent before it jumped her again. She has stabilized now, and it has lost its grip on her."

The woman pursed her lips, getting absorbed into the readings as she typed away at it. Otto nearly growled at having to ask. "Where? When did it drop her?"

She blinked up at him, as if she'd somehow forgotten he was there. "Twenty-two-hundred hours, July 3rd, the Rich District of 1191 Jerusalem."

"Will it keep track of her location and time?" Robin had claimed that would be the easiest part of the project considering, but none of the tests had been successful enough to find if her claim was true.

She nodded. "Yes, coordinates within a square mile, the time to the second, until the moment she dies, in theory. But there is no way to bring her back."

Otto stared between her and the screen, a slow grin working its way across his face. This had gone far better than he had thought. In fact, he dare say it ended _better_ than he had originally planned. Why target the one who rebuilt that damned Brotherhood when he could have the one that started it all? Cut the head from the snake and there will be nothing to rebuild come the Renaissance.

"Marcus." He called for his ever-present shadow that was fairly useful at retrieving things for him and delivering messages but not much else. "Find me Robert de Sable's journal and the Codex pages."

Twenty minutes later he was in a high security conference room with six of the highest ranking and most trusted of his colleagues, the requested book and pages out before him. They had all gone through them, but nothing had changed of the versions they'd memorized long ago. Every historical record of that time and place they had had been examined as well. There was not even a footnote different to suggest any part of history had been changed by the appearance of a 21st century woman.

"Will she die so soon there is not even the chance for a butterfly effect?" One asked, eyeing their 'expert' on time travel. As if he had anything other than guesses at this point.

"There are three theories for this." Said man pulled his glasses off, rubbing the lenses on his shirt. "The first, and the one I believe to be the most likely, is the Theory of Time."

He paused, as if that was supposed to mean anything to anyone. "Basically it means that we will not see any of the effects of her presence until she has caused them in her own time. Essentially, if it takes her six months to be noticed enough by Robert that he would write of her, it will take six months before we see the change in the journal."

Placing the glasses back onto his face, he glanced around the room to be sure everyone had grasped the concept. "The second is the Alternate Verse Theory, in which the woman was sent back, but all resulting ripples will only be known in an alternate universe, one where that is always the past."

"You mean to say that no matter what we would accomplish with this project, we'd still be plagued by these damn Assassins?" A third spoke up, leaning forwards against the table to stare at their so-called expert.

The man, to his credit, didn't even flinch under the imposing stare. "If that is the theory that comes to fruition then yes, however I believe it to be the less likely."

"And the third?" Otto cut in before anyone else could drag this out with more questions. More importantly, he wanted to know, for one-hundred percent certain, that this machine had worked. It was all good to for a computer to say someone was someplace, at some time and alive, but in reality? He knew nothing, and he would determine his actions based only on things he knew by fact. Seeing a ripple, or some change created by the woman, if she were in fact when and where the machine said she was, would confirm that for him and put the rest of his plan into motion.

"The third is a simple theory, that she was always going to go back, that she already had, and absolutely nothing is going to change because she has already changed what it would have been like without her." This had never been an extremely promising project, not on the drawing board and not now in practice. The very fact the machine seemed to have _worked_ was impressive, but now they had only a one in three chance of it meaning a damn thing.

"So our next course of action?" A fourth asked, composed and cool as always, not even Otto could read his expressions, concerned or hopeful, he always looked like he'd been told his stocks had dropped ten points.

"We wait." Otto decided. "We fine-tune the machine and we wait for confirmation of our success. And then, we shall destroy the Assassins before then can begin."

There was much work to be done and the deadline could happen upon them without any warning, they had best get started immediately. With a dismissive nod he rose and exited the room, noting one more thing had to be done; all evidence of the woman being there had to be erased.

* * *

 **Captain: _So yes, Emma does have a variation of Eagle Sense, part of it being a *slightly* heightened sixth sense for when trouble is coming and a bit of the Vision, however it's very weak colors and not nearly as honed as Altair's. This is not here just for making her 'more interesting', but those details will be revealed later as the plot requires instead of an info dump._**


	3. Damn It Toto, Oz Would Have Been Better

**Captain:** _First off, as some have noticed, my username has been changed! I'd been Black Wolf-Dog for *forever* but decided I no longer wanted a name based on a long-gone fanfic, instead I chose one based on an original character of mine and plan to keep this name for...well probably a long time. Secondly, I would tell you all of the numerous reasons this chapter took so damn long to write, but that would near double the word count so I will just leave it at data entry jobs are *not* for me._

A _note on the language: Emma has a dirty mouth when the situation calls for it and I really did think about doing everyone's historically accurate, but I felt it would jack up the flow of the story to make even English not an option for them, so while keeping their speech more reformed, I am fudging it a bit for plot purposes, though there will be misunderstandings on both sides even with the adjusted speech._

 ** _IMPORTANT NOTE: Regarding the last chapter, I noticed that a *very* important line had somehow been cut out, it has since been fixed_**

 ** _Enjoy the extra-long chapter!_**

* * *

Emma's head pounded as the sun pierced her eyelids through the open window. How much did she have to drink last night? Ugh, she really needed to stay away from the tequila; it was always her undoing on a night out.

At least it felt like she hadn't lost any of her clothing this time, that one top had been a bitch to replace…

With a groan, she shifted, dirt scraping against her face. Jeezus did she end up in the gutter? That would be a first. An awkward shape was digging into her side and with a start, she realized it was her belt, gun and all. Shit. What the hell happened?

Dimly memories came back, the crash, Abstergo and some psycho plan that involved using her as a guinea pig followed by a hallucination trip to top it off.

A voice made it through the dim fog of other voices, louder than the rest. Emma tried to focus on it to gain some clue as to where she'd ended up, but the man was yelling gibberish. Some language from the other side of the ocean most like, but not one she could identify or make sense of.

Rubbing the grit from her eyes, she sat up, bracing her back against the wall behind her. Stiff branches rubbed against her skin, and though it was the morning sun shining on her, it was already hot. Damn eastern summers, the abnormally cool temperatures were about to break apparently.

The voice only paused long enough for the man to refill his lungs before he was belting out again. Seriously, could someone please shut the crackpot up? She must have ended up on the _really_ wrong end of town to be suffering this psychobabble.

Blinking at the dusty building before her, she took a deep breath of the morning air and tried to orient herself. Instead, she started hacking, the sand filling her lungs and grating against her already parched throat.

Women in their Sunday best passed by without sparing her a glance. What part of town was she even _in_? More like _which_ town, she mused to herself, she knew the city well, and all of its cracks. Not one of those was home to sandy dirt, preaching foreigners and women who flocked to church. Certainly there were all three, but never in the same place.

There was more wrong here than just the people and the building material. The very air was different, warmer, somehow lighter yet still heavy with the stink of so many people in one place. Even the _sounds_ were off. Dogs barked where cars should have been honking and dimly it almost sounded like a horse neighing. The only horses were at Central Park and with the mounted patrol, neither of which had been anywhere near the Abstergo building.

Not that she believed she was anywhere near said building herself anymore. Dust lazily floated in the air from the crowds walking by, not a single mark of pavement in either direction. Looking closer at the people as they passed by the mouth of her alley, she blinked. Not their Sunday best it seemed. Dresses yes, but not of the like that had been seen in…well a long damn time. Even the men had robes over their clothes, at least she hoped there was clothing under there. What. The. Fuck?

Pulling herself to her feet, she braced a hand against the gritty wall of the two-story building behind her. It wasn't right either, no steel or brick, just brittle stone that shaved easily when she drug her nails across it. She would be hard pressed to say there were buildings this _short_ inside the city. Where the hell did those bastards dump her? Had they knocked her out after the acid trip and kept her out long enough to drop her in some third world country? It almost seemed plausible at this point. Judging by the dress and construction, she'd go so far as to say….well that she didn't have a fucking clue. She wasn't some cultural expert or whatever. She was a cop, she knew New York.

"This isn't the city Toto." She muttered to herself, gaining more queer looks. Lovely. She was the new freak show in town apparently.

Stumbling from the alley, she tried to glimpse a sign of the skyscrapers, some way to orient herself. On a clear day like this, the Empire State Building should stand out even from the outskirts. But even in the open street, there was no towering building to guide her way. The tallest was no more than five or six stories, and it was more of a needle tower than a functional structure. The ground crunched and shifted beneath her boots in the areas it wasn't packed nearly solid. People swerved to give her a wide berth, even the men sent her disgusted looks. Well that was new. Sure not everyone was fond of cops (more so these days), but most times she still received several rather crude jokes about handcuffs.

Moving in the general direction of the crowd, she hoped to make it out of this weird place and find _something_ familiar.

A man in a padded robe of some sort eyed her carefully, one hand going to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Wait what.

A sword? Really? Taking a double-look, she nearly groaned at seeing that yes, it was what she'd thought; they took this role-playing seriously apparently. Any chance it could have been a prop was erased when he loosed it some, and the sun glinted off the partially revealed blade in the way that only metal could.

Emma's right hand slowly came to rest on the butt of her gun, thumb flicking the holster strap open. She had no intentions of becoming a shish kebob during some reenactment, thank-you. He said not a word to her, but his eyes never left her, she could even feel them burning into her back as she passed beyond him. Tipping her head, she kept her ears trained for the ring of metal being drawn.

When it did not come, she released her breath and let herself focus on her new surroundings. The air she'd let out was promptly sucked in. The plaza (if it could be called that) had a single shallow pool in the center, surrounded by some kind of flowering bushes and short trees. Stone pillars with writing she couldn't read were scattered throughout, in front of which was the man shouting nonsense to a crowd who apparently understood every word. Some were agreeing with whatever he was saying while others shook their heads and continued on their way.

All in all, not that different from the city, other than the language, clothes, buildings, dust, and jeezus fuck _where was she?!_

The multitude of voices made a very dull roar, but even focusing on different conversations got her nowhere closer to figuring out what the hell was going on. Everyone spoke in the same gibberish language. Head pounding, she paused to lean against the corner of a building, squinting hard and focusing on the people around her. It strained to try seeing so many at once, but most tinted a dull grey. Neither friend nor enemy, she'd find no help with them. The armed men had a red glow that put her on edge. Mercenaries or their version of law enforcement she had no idea, but it would be best to avoid them.

Shaking her head, she let the colors of the world come back full force, the pressure behind her eyes lingering like an unpleasant aftertaste. It did not bode well that not a single soul outlined in blue or white. She was on her own, with no less than five potential thugs to make the situation even more difficult.

Stepping away from the building and out into the open, she became the center of attention very quickly. Even the crier paused his rant to look over at her before spewing again, pointing her direction and shouting with more fervor than before. Emma edged away from him as the crowd turned hateful eyes towards her. Alright then, clearly this town was anti-cop. Fan-fucking-tastic.

If only the annoying piss-ant would shut his damn mouth. The longer he went, the more people joined in. Uneasy, she rested her hand on her gun again, getting a loose grip on it. Loathe as she was to use it so outnumbered and with so many civilians around, she wasn't about to let herself become easy fodder to the growing multitude.

The way she had come was very nearly barren of people, but to the left, the street was lined with stalls in what had to be the market, with enough civilians wandering around that she could (hopefully) lose the unwanted attention. Some were advancing on her, shouting what had to be insults. The men with the swords made no move to break up the crowd, so she was forced to retreat to the market, backpedaling to keep the mob in sight.

Bumping her way through the first line, several of the group broke off, but others still advanced. One man bent over, scooping up a stone from the path. Cursing in their damn impossible-to-understand language, he hurled the rock towards her.

Fucking _asshole_.

Jumping to the side, she rammed into the person behind her, the stone sailing past and striking the body that had moved into its path. A pot shattered and feminine hands shoved against her back, forcing her into the man who had just taken the rock meant for her.

"Sorry." She grunted, righting herself and turning her attention back to the mob, wary of anymore sailing projectiles coming for her head. Outnumbered, no chance of backup and surrounded by strange civilians, she did not want to use her gun, but she might not have a choice should they insist on attempting to stone her in the middle of a crowd.

The man who'd been hit started shouting himself, his voice carrying easily over the noise, gesturing with one arm. Emma noted in a quick glance that his other sleeve hung limp and empty, the black cloth swaying with his movements. Whatever he said or whoever he was was somehow enough, and the rest of her pursuers broke away.

"Thanks." She let out a breath of relief, squatting with him to gather the herbs and fruits that had fallen from the basket he'd dropped when the stone struck him. He gave her a startled look, double-taking her appearance before frowning. Lovely, was he about to call the mob back now? Peachy.

"Is it your intent to cause needless strife woman?" He snapped, roughly shoving the last of his things into the basket and attempting to balance it onto his hand while standing. He was not doing a fantastic job of it.

Emma was momentarily taken aback by the fact that someone actually fucking spoke _English_. Rough, thickly accented and older than Shakespearian but _holy shit_ someone she could actually communicate with!

He was already moving away, and she dared not risk standing still long enough to try her Sense on him, especially since her head still swam from the last time. No this one she'd have to go with the gut feeling and pray it wouldn't lead her astray.

The fact he'd basically insulted her she decided to chalk up to getting pelted with a rock. She was pretty miffed about it herself and she wasn't even hit; so she stood, weaving through the few people he'd managed to put between them. It took only a few paces to catch up, the crowd thick here and he struggling to maintain his hold on the oversized basket. Tilting her head, she noted the strain on his face, the veins bulging in places they normally wouldn't be under such a light load.

It was the familiarity of barely masked agony that told her the loss of his arm was recent, that the skin of his stump he kept so tightly clamped to his side would be raw and jagged and tender even to the touch of the sleeve. She knew that look, her brother wore it for some time after he lost his leg. It made her wonder, if they were so backwards in clothing and building regs, what was their medical practice like? Not something she really wanted to know, nor would it be anything she could actually help with. She had her own number of jagged scars to prove her skill at stitches was…well… _lacking_.

Not that that was the point at all, she found someone who could perhaps tell her what the _fuck_ was going on and in turn she could…well maybe do something.

A passerby jostled into him roughly, hitting the stump and moving off without so much as a glance back. He would have dropped the basket again had it not tipped in Emma's direction, but he paid no attention to her catching his things, his hand was gripping his stump, knuckles white and sweat beading on his brow as he swore long and hard in what was apparently the native tongue.

There wasn't anything she could do for the pain, but she did know that his brain was still sending those signals from a limb no longer there. Handling pain was one thing, attempting to deal with it when there was nothing to grab onto was another.

Another careless civilian bumped into his good side, causing the hand on his stump to flex. The swearing came through ground teeth, and it brought back the memories of those long months getting her brother through rehab. She had to help him, even if he couldn't help her in the end.

Shifting the basket to her left arm, she stepped up to his side, shielding the injury from further punishment. "Is there a mirror anywhere?"

He spared her a single glancing glare, that was either a 'what the fuck is a mirror?' or 'why the hell would there be one around here?'. What did they call those things in older times anyway? Everything else seemed backwards here so maybe the terminology was as well. "Uh, a looking glass or something that shows your reflection?"

"That will not help." He ground out. Well he was entirely _unhelpful_ then. Yeesh. Standing on her toes to see above parts of the crowd, she hoped some vendor would be selling mirrors.

There! Sunlight glinted off one, and without further preamble, put a hand to his back and nudged him forward. Solid, tensed muscle met her touch, and for a man focusing on breathing through massive amounts of pain, he did not budge an inch. Rolling her eyes, she tried to dig deep for whatever little patience she had. "Trust me it will help, we did it with my brother."

Judging by the wary look he sent her, 'trust me' wasn't exactly the best phrase in this backwards, over-literal town. Whatever. "Do you want help or don't you?"

Really, she didn't _have_ to be standing here in the open trying to help, she could very well leave his wounded ass and attempt to figure things out herself. Though…he _was_ the only one so far who seemed to have any knowledge of English and her bloody conscious might not let her just walk away. Not that he needed to know that.

Whether he actually decided to try her suggestion or he was just tired of getting jostled by the crowd—she'd had to balance nearly on her toes at times just to keep herself from being shoved into him—he began to move towards the mirror vendor. Thankfully said stall was not nearly as crowded as the others, only a few richly dressed women picking over jewel-handled pieces. Emma ignored them and urged him straight for the single full-body mirror, moving to stand next to it and making him face her. The vendor came over, talking no doubt about how wonderful (it wasn't) his wares were. Her companion snipped a few words that had the older man returning to the ladies.

He was still looking unsure, and in pain, his hand flexing just above the stump, too on-fire to touch but unable to not try to clench the pain away. "Hold your good arm in front of the mirror, move it like your left arm feels like it should be moving."

He stared confused for a long moment before he either worked out what she'd said or figured it out for himself. With the stump behind the frame, he raised his good arm, eyes focusing on the reflection as he went through the motions. It might not work, might not be the kind of signals he was going through, but it was her only thought to help. It was the only way her brother ever got through losing his lower leg; the early mornings had been the worst, when he'd woken delirious, not yet remembering that it was gone and complaining how much his foot hurt.

"It's called phantom pain, your head hasn't accepted that it's gone yet." There was no telling if these people knew what nerves or a brain were and frankly she didn't understand the science behind it much either, so the simplest explanation was the best option. Not to mention, judging by the various looks they were getting, probably not the best street-conversation either. If anyone else could actually understand her that is.

She was actually hard-pressed to say _who_ was getting more of those looks though. Her, dressed to stand out and about the only fair skinned, blonde woman around; or him, moving his arm around in front of a mirror with extreme concentration.

His face cleared somewhat. It wouldn't make the pain go away but it could at least help his brain sort through the conflicting signals it was getting. After a long moment he nodded to her, stepping away from the mirror and taking the basket back into his good arm. "I thank you for your assistance. Is there some way I can repay this debt?"

Emma glanced around, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck, she really hated asking for help for _anything_ , let alone something like this. Growing up in New York meant she shouldn't even be able to get lost within the state borders. Rule number one for staying alive as a cop meant always knowing where she was. "Well uh, for start…where the hell am I?"

He stared at her for a long moment, as if unsure what exactly she meant before answering slowly. "You are in the Rich District, in the bazaar."

It was her turn to blink at him, before resisting the urge to face-palm. No wonder he'd spoken as if she was slow. Well….this probably wasn't going to make him think any different. "City, what city am I in?"

His suspicion was growing with every word out of her mouth and he was regarding her more carefully. "Jerusalem. How did you come by here, the slave caravan?"

Slaves? Really? Was that a joke or something? Jeezus they took this role-playing thing _way_ too damn seriously.

Wait.

Wait just a fucking minute.

JERUSALEM?!

She stared at him, body stiff as she waited for him to crack a smile, laugh, break character or _something_. He didn't, he just continued to watch her as if she was about to sprout another head and tap dance. Emma wasn't about to break into a number, but she might very well pass out.

"This is a joke right, some sick twisted joke that isn't even remotely fucking funny." His look was quickly transforming to one of mild disgust. Right, women in whatever-time they were recreating weren't supposed to swear. Boo-fucking-who. She was thrown in loony-town with no foreseeable way back home since the one person who spoke a remotely understandable language was under the impression they were in the damn _Middle East_.

"I know not what a joke is but I can assure you I am not attempting to be humorous." He clipped back at her shortly. "If that is all milady, there are things I must attend to."

Shifting his basket, he began to walk back towards the crowd, ignoring the seller who was making a last ditch effort to sell him the mirror. Not only did 'milady' sound weird as _hell_ in that accent, but being called so made her feel like she was in medieval Europe. Did he think she was from there or something? Sweet mercy it was making her head hurt.

"Wait! One more thing." She called, a faint twitch to her lips, she had to find out how deep this ruse went. "What year is it?"

A single brow quirked up as he glanced back at her over his shoulder, "As you Christians say, it is the year of your Lord 1191."

He disappeared into the crowd. Emma blinked several times, attempting to track him with her eyes, but he'd blended into the masses.

 _1191?!_

What in the hell were these people smoking that would make them want to relive Robin Hood?! Okay sure her younger self had had romantic notions at one point of cavorting with a hot outlaw in the woods but….that was when she was sixteen and they weren't even pretending to be in England! Ah crap there was something else historical going on around then she knew it, one of the Crusades most likely.

Well, that explained the general dislike most of the citizens seemed to be throwing her way. Pretend Muslims in this pretend city would pretend to hate her 'English' self. Lovely. At least one guy had the decency to give her _some_ help, even if it wasn't actually _helpful._

With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead in a sorry attempt to ease the pain. Damn she could use a drink. The thought made her realize she really did need a drink, and not necessarily of the booze kind. Her mouth was as dry as the sand around her and somehow she really doubted she'd be finding any sort of drinking fountain set up in the middle of all this. There was the pool in the central area she'd first come out, but she could still dimly hear shouting and doubted the herald would waste a single second to turn the crowd on her again. Her only other option was to explore until she found something, surely with all these people there had to be clean water somewhere.

The faint call of horses reached her again, she tipped her head to better judge the direction it had come from. If all else failed, the animals would have a full trough.

Getting to it however, proved far easier in theory than it did so in practice. Along the way she met much of the same disgusted looks, gibberish insults, and threatening stances from every man with a sword. A stone or two had come her way again, but she could not pick out the culprit. Emma was fast losing her patience with these people, and the next one to throw a rock may just find themselves handcuffed and hog-tied.

"Son of a bitch!" She growled as the twisting alley spit her out onto a familiar street, one she'd been down three times. Was it impossible to set up an ancient city so the layout would make some damn sense?! Evidently such marvels were beyond these people. With another string of curses, she turned around and tried again.

 _Finally,_ after too many twists, turns, backtracks and dead ends, a towering wall loomed up before her, disappearing in either direction and several stories high. She glanced up at it, shielding her eyes from the midday sun. "What is this, a Game of Thrones wannabe?"

The horses were just on the other side, she could hear them snorting and squealing at each other. Unfortunately, her string of bad luck decided to continue, as four armed guards stood across the gate and as many more stood sentry just before it.

Perhaps they would see she obviously did not belong in this thing, surely they'd see that, let her through and back into the real world. The Sense gave her a bad feeling, but hopefully these ones wouldn't be as into their roles as some of the other asshats.

With confident steps she moved towards them, aching, thirsty and otherwise peeved beyond expression. Really, she dared them to try and stop her at this point, she was beyond done with this little charade.

Swords were drawn the moment she stepped past the first line, her gun came up to level on the closest one as others surrounded her. "That is fucking _it!_ I've had enough of your damn games, enough of this stupid place and enough of being threatened! So drop the fucking swords before someone gets shot!"

Damn it all if she was about to take another second of this bullshit.

All of the men were shouting back at her, some things had been spat her way before, some was new, but still she understood none of it. They showed no fear of her gun, no respect for the uniform, it was like they'd never even seen it before.

That….that wasn't possible. Even the Amish knew a gun when they saw one! Everyone did! Her gut sank as the reality of it started to sink in. Whether or not these people really believed it was 1191 didn't matter, but they saw no authority in her, and while her clip may hold sixteen bullets, they were too close for her to have a prayer to take them all down before they got to her.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Most stood between her and the gate, only two were behind. She took her chances and dove backwards, bull-rushing one rather than chance getting between them before the metal did. He flinched back as her shoulder drove into him, giving her leverage to knock him off his feet while barely keeping hers. It was enough to give her clearance to charge into the city, taking random streets and alleys in an effort to lose those that gave chase. They followed for some time, their knowledge of the layout allowing them to take shortcuts and cutoffs, forcing her to change direction each time she thought she'd outpaced them.

Lungs burning and muscles trembling, she knew she had to find some place to hide soon. Short sprints were fine, but long distance was not her friend. A loose stone caught her foot as she came around a corner, and with a curse she went headfirst into a pile of hay. Panting, she rolled to her back and some of the grass collapsed on top of her. She moved to brush it away before the pounding footsteps of her pursuers reached her ears and she froze. It was a poor hiding place, but just _maybe_ it could be enough.

Holding a hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing, she dared not move when the few trailing guards came through. The others had either returned to their posts or moved to cut her off, but no one looked towards the hay. After a long moment of discussion, the guards sheathed their swords and moved off.

Only after they were gone did Emma dare let out a breath, her heart beating like drums in her ears and her left shoulder stinging like mad. Reaching over to lightly touch the spot, she winced at finding it warm and slick. As the adrenaline faded, the pain spread across her forearm as well. Evidently, the swords were most definitely real and tackling a guy with one was not the smartest idea.

Laying in the scratchy hay, she caught her breath and took stock of what she knew, which frankly, spelt one giant clusterfuck. Abstergo was into some sketchy shit that involved using her as an experiment and dropped her in this….whatever it was where everyone believed it was 1191 Jerusalem. She knew some of those role-players really got into it but assaulting a cop crossed the line, the second she got out of here she was bringing the entire damn force to arrest these assholes. Except the one-armed dude, he was semi-reasonable.

The brief, flickering thought of time-travel made her snort a laugh, scaring the bejeezus out of a passing civilian who looked at the hay as if it were about to eat her. It made Emma snort again, muttering to herself, "This isn't an episode of Supernatural, it's a rerun of Psych."

With a groan she pulled herself out, now thirstier, dirtier and more in pain than before, but at least the adrenaline had pushed the headache away. Taking stock of her arm, she winced at the very idea of having to stitch herself up. There were many talents required of a cop, but decent knitting was not one of them. The cuts were decently deep, but not so much so they absolutely required stitches per say. She would leave it for now, wrap it in…whatever she could scrounge up.

A laundry line hung in the alley across, robes and long, loose shirts swayed in the breeze. It was nearly laughable to call them shirts since they hung to the men's knees, but the light material would do, so she yanked down both. Karma was feeling generous as an uncrowded fountain was just a few alleys over, tucked into a corner and populated by only a few elderly couples. They ignored her, leaving her to take her fill of the lukewarm waters and wash the blood from her arm in peace. The shirt was sacrificed; pulling the small knife from her boot she cut it into strips and tied it around the cuts. It was sloppy and the knots ugly, but it would hold for now.

The heat was reaching uncomfortably high levels, too hot for the end of June in New York. Pulling the robe over her head, she cursed the necessity for another layer, but she couldn't afford to keep standing out if it meant sprinting across the damn city again. She had to lay low, and attempt to find the one-armed man again for answers.

"One thing is for certain," She glanced around, picking a street at random. "Oz would have been a more cheerful place to land."

The heat was stifling, worse than any city summer she'd gone through under the Kevlar. There were more people than she'd originally thought too, swarming the streets in some areas and all but deserting them in others. An almost distinct line separated the classes, she discovered. With no sense of North and South it was impossible to give direction to them, but where she'd woken up was definitely the upper class. Their clothing was more colorful, the buildings more ornate and there were certainly fewer of them. The slum was the opposite as expected. Crowded, left in disrepair and everyone dressed in rags.

The red robe she'd stolen blended more in the middle class area, but nowhere could she escape the odd looks, the glares and unwanted attention. Her blonde ponytail stood out too much, even darkened by sweat the gold still stood in stark contrast to the dark hair everyone sported. Even her fairer skin was like a beacon. The robe hardly helped her blend at all, but at least it was enough to keep the rocks at bay.

Nothing seemed able to assist her finding the one-armed man again, no matter what part of the city she searched, which market she scoped through, he remained out of sight. The little hope she had when she found the original bazaar she'd met him in quickly snuffed out at seeing no sign and the sun beginning its decent onto the horizon.

Merchants started packing up their wares, civilians hurried home and even a few guards disappeared from their posts. Emma frowned, glancing at the sky and guessing there was probably another two hours of daylight left. Why the hell were they all running for cover now?

Dark clouds rolled in the distance, but they were still a ways off, plenty of time for them to make it home at a leisurely pace, hell there was even time for her to find cover. Only…..in her random trips throughout the city she hadn't found much in the way of free protection and even if there had been, she doubted she would be able to find it again before dark.

A little hut sat on the roof close to a ladder a guard was coming down. She'd seen several of them throughout the city but had no idea what they were for and most those she could get to had sentries sitting on them. Now though it was open, and she figured it could be her best bet. With luck it would be totally enclosed and this little squall would be a warm summer sprinkle that would go as fast as it came.

Luck, as it turned out, decided to turn a blind eye to her. The so-called hut was a roof garden, no more than a square of planted gutters with hanging curtains to keep the worst of the sun off the plants. The clouds had moved faster than she had anticipated too, and thunder rumbled in the not-so-far-off distance. There was no time to find something else, nor anywhere she could think to try. So she pulled herself into the garden, tucking her body onto the floor in a corner against the wind that already blowing cool against her skin, chilling what sweat remained.

It did not sprinkle, it was not a warm summer shower to make the day more bearable. The storm was a freezing torrent that started with a downpour and only got worse as the night went on.

Emma could only wrap her arms around her knees to trap what warmth she had and pray that by morning the entire thing would be a dream.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"The windows have all been repaired, Sir." Otto hadn't the faintest idea why some of his underlings felt the need to fill him in on every single detail that went on in the building. It was annoying and repetitive. Contrary to what they all seemed to believe, he did actually check in on the cameras to see things for himself, so he had well known that all evidence of the 'accident' that occurred last night courtesy of a nosey cop had been cleaned up and cleared. The only task he currently wanted to know the update on was one that would no doubt be needed within the week. Cops had a nasty habit of looking out for their own after all, and the bloody woman had made herself seen to the responders.

"The video footage?" He did not bother turning to face Marcus, rather continued to watch the progress on his machine. Robin would ensure not only that it was still fully functional, but that it would land their next subject _exactly_ where they wanted them to go. Soon she would have an estimation on the load capacity as well. Otto would prefer to keep it a small operation to limit the potential time ripples, but if he had to, he would send every man and woman in this building to the Crusades if it meant destroying the Assassins.

"Doctored as you ordered." Good, there would be no evidence the woman ever lingered here.

"Otto." Another voice cut in, forcing the man to turn an acknowledge whoever was brave (or foolish) enough to use his first name. Marcus ducked out with a frown upon his face, messages delivered but a hollow feeling in his gut.

"Mr. Byron." The presence of their time theory expert was not all that surprising, his lack of acknowledging Otto's authority, though equally unsurprising, was not so appreciated. A man who feared and respected him was a predictable man, one who could be controlled with a few words. Kevin Byron was not so easily cowed, and that made him a potential risk. Unfortunately he was also necessary to the project until such a time they could determine which theory was in play and what that could mean for the current world. Otto was left to suffer the man's near insubordination.

"I still question the thinking of sending the cop back with all of her weapons and gear, the repercussions of such things in that time…"

"I am well aware of your perceived consequences. It was necessary to ascertain whether the transport of firearms would be possible, furthermore should Robert's alchemists have a chance at recreating pepper spray it will only help them defeat what assassins remain once we are through." Otto cut over the older man coolly, not feeling the need to explain himself but knowing the man would not cease his prattle about it unless otherwise reminded.

Byron sighed, glancing over the worn pages in his hands, one of the Codex pages no doubt. "We know the Apple showed Altair the general make of a firearm, but….what if this is our proof right here that she survives and makes it to the assassins, and he only wrote it was knowledge from the Apple to hide her existence?"

Otto turned fully to face the man; it was little spirts like this that made him worth keeping around, even if in this case, he was wrong. "We left her with a Glock and a six-shooter, neither of which come close to Altair's design. Be assured, the Apple gave him those schematics and in the world she is in, he will never receive them. Go back to your studies Mr. Byron, it is only one woman."

Kevin left with a scowl, the fact Otto brushed off all of the possible unforeseen complications so flippantly bothered him greatly. Could he really not see that the very presence of that women in the timeline could change _everything_? The ripples she could start even without her gear were innumerable, the very nature of Chaos theory came in to play here, and there was no telling where it could lead.

* * *

 **Captain:** _Yaaaaay for Malik! Mr. Sassypants. I figure that since the Assassins work both sides of the war and have to be able to blend anywhere, by a certain rank they would be able to speak a few languages, including English. And Otto is of course a dick. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and will be kind enough to leave me a review! Unless life kicks me in the teeth the next chapter will not take nearly as long to get out aaaaand *drum roll* we shall be seeing Altair next chapter! I'm super excited for it and I can promise, the meeting of Altair and Emma will not be one either ever forgets..._


	4. Life Gave Me Lemons, I Wanted Tequila

**Captain:** _Hello my awesome lovely readers! We're back with another trip of fun in Jerusalem! And I'm getting a puppy! WOOOOOOO! Breed will depend on what deal goes through but it's going to be a boy and his name will be Altair. I plan on making him assassin costumes for Halloween :D_

 _A note on the Bureau: I'm changing up the inside appearance of the bureau as you may notice. Parts of it will be the same but others will be fudged. The most bedding we saw was the pillows where Altair slept, but I really doubt Malik or any of the other Dia's joined him there, ergo rooms have been created and a fireplace added, since they had to cook their food somehow as well._

 _On Emma's history references: She's not a scholar, at best she can guestimate. So yes, her inaccuracies are intentional. On that note, enjoy!_

* * *

When morning light first appeared on the distant horizon, Emma could not have been more relieved for the end of the night. It did not, however, spell the end of the storm. Her body shook in a poor effort to fend off the cold, every inch soaked to the bone. Joints locked and stiff, she couldn't bring herself to move and somehow was able to force herself into a weak doze until the rains finally ceased. The sun never made its full appearance, rather it stayed curtained by clouds that kept the temperatures remarkably lower than the day before. Emma would have much rather preferred the heat.

The robe had soaked up water better than a sponge and clung to her like a second skin. Peeling it off, she dropped it in a ball onto the floor with a _splat_. There was no telling if there would be more rain, but the woman knew she couldn't afford another night here, not when her body ached and shivered this much already. She had to get warm and out of the weather, or risk getting sick in this hellhole.

Slowly, feeling as if every limb was filled with sand, she forced herself to step out of the cheap garden, jaw clamping hard as a slight breeze felt like an artic wall. No doubt it was nothing more than a cool relief to those dry down below, but the only part of her not soaked was strapped under Kevlar. It made her wish she'd been in short sleeves, at least then her arms would have a chance at drying out. She was hard-pressed to say if keeping it on or removing the outer uniform would be the warmer option.

A cloudy sky did not make the city look any better than it had the day before, but from up here she had a much better view. It had been obvious it was decent sized by the amount of times she was able to get lost yesterday, but seeing it laid out before her put it into stark clarity just how _massive_ it truly was. At most, she'd probably only covered half of it. The mission of finding the one-armed man in all of this just suddenly seemed so much closer to impossible. How could she hope to find _anyone_ in all of this? There was no way to know where he lived or frequented, hell his appearance in the market could have been a one-time fluke.

Like looking for a broken needle in a needle stack mixed with a box of nails, she mentally cursed. The better choice would be to find a plausible way out of here, if one of the gates proved to be unguarded.

A male voice started shouting just feet away, startling her into jumping and very nearly losing her balance over the edge. "Son of a bitch!"

Whirling around, she threw a nasty glare to the one who'd very nearly sent her over. Yelling when he was so close was entirely unnecessary.

"Fuck." She raised her hands in surrender, hoping this one didn't feel the need to release the grip on the arrow he had aimed at her. _Seriously?_ Swords _and_ bow and arrows? What next, a stockade? Frankly she wouldn't put it past these people.

He was still shouting, the tension on the bowstring tightening, Emma did not have a damn clue what he was saying, but a quick glance at the surrounding rooftops told her that no civilians were up there. Apparently this was a 'guards only' club. Lovely.

Still keeping her hands up, she worked her way towards the ladder, dropping down onto it the second she reached it and parting with a growl, "I'm going I'm going! Damn asshat."

The bowman moved to the ledge, keeping his shouts and weapon aimed at her until her feet hit the ground and she took several steps away. When he finally turned away she raised a middle finger to him before huffing and moving off. Evidently that spot was a no-go from now on. Rooftops were not her friend.

Without the robe to hide her uniform, she was once again subjected to the spewing hatred of the civilians and guards wherever she came upon them, the only upside being the dark clouds kept many inside, and urged others to do their business quickly. No stones came her way, but the armed men were in a sourer mood than before and more apt to join in the cursing.

Her uniform still dripped as she walked down the muddy streets, the dampness in the air promising the potential for another storm while preventing anything from drying.

Rounding a corner, Emma froze in her steps, her exhausted brain taking several moments to figure out what it is she was seeing. While the guards had been nothing but jerks towards her, none had ever actually made a move. Here however, three were physically harassing a woman, while two others stood watch.

 _Fucking seriously!?_

She couldn't be older than twenty, crying out what had to be their word for help while the men jeered and taunted and pulled at her more. Not a soul moved to stop them, no less than ten could clearly see what was going on and every single one of them walked past without a second glance. Cowards. Outnumbered or no, there was no excuse to let something like this continue. Five men against one woman, how long would they be content to push her around before they decided to go further?

"HEY!" She shouted, gaining the attention of every person on the street. The civilians took one look at who she was talking to and quickened their pace away. There would be no backup from them, bloody brilliant.

One of the men shouted at her and waved his arm to shoo her away whilst the others went back to their game. Emma could feel her temper spiking, the heat of anger pushing away the chill of the weather.

"I said hey, assholes! Leave her alone!" She moved right in front of them, one hand balled into a fist while the other twitched towards the empty baton holster. Damn she should have listened to Eliot's insistence that she carry it.

The language barrier did not magically disappear, both watchers shouted at her now in their undiscernible language, the one closest to her reached out a hand to shove her away.

Oh hell no.

Grabbing onto his wrist with her left hand, she twisted it harshly and tugged him closer to meet the fist flying at his face. It connected with his nose with a loud _crack_ , and he reeled back, hands going for his bleeding face with a long slew of swears. _That_ got the attention of the other four, who abandoned their game with the other woman and turned to her. Their victim took the opportunity to dash away without so much as a backwards glance. Peachy, you're welcome lady.

The men did not wait to see if she would strike again, they came at her together, two latching onto her arms while another grabbed her waist from behind. She bucked against the hold as the one she struck came towards her, hitting her cheek with a vicious backhanded blow that snapped her head to the side. Stars danced across her vision and copper filled her mouth; facing him, she spat a glob of blood at his feet. He came at her again, but this time she used the leverage of those holding her, pitching her weight into their holds, raising her legs and landing a solid kick into the man's chest, knocking him clean off his feet while simultaneously rocking her captors off balance.

It was enough to yank one arm free long enough to send her palm into the nose of the man that held the other. His loss of grip on her was no victory however, as the last man sent a fist directly into her chest, knocking the breath from her lungs and keeping it away for several painful gasps. Straining for air, it was all she could do to keep her feet under her, even then it was the returned grip on her arms that kept her upright.

The one she'd kicked was clutching his ribs, but any satisfaction from that was short-lived as one of the others delivered another backhand, the ring on his finger splitting her cheek. The world spun off kilter and Emma had the sinking notion that she'd bitten off more than she could chew by picking this fight.

Next time she was going to shoot the bastards.

Voices were shouting back and forth, one that was almost vaguely familiar but not enough she could identify it. Her left eye was already swelling, her vision narrowing until it was all she could do to crack it open. Damn it why did they have to go for the face?

Her supports released her and her body slumped into the mud, head still ringing from the last blow too much to gather her bearings. An arm reached down around her, hoisting her up and helping her gain her feet. She tried to resist, not wanting the guards to have another go at it, or worse, but the grip would not be denied.

"You seem to attract trouble at every turn." A voice remarked, the arm around her waist adding enough pressure to force her legs to move, lest she face plant into the muck.

"It's a specialty." She coughed, knowing that she _knew_ this voice, but try as she might she could not place it, nor could she see who it was since he was on her left, where her eye was all but useless for now.

"I advise not to go provoking a fight you cannot win, elsewise you may find yourself dead before the morrow." The voice chided, as if talking to some foolish child, Emma took mild offense to that.

"Hey bub I couldn't just do nothing while they raped a woman." She snapped, her legs working with her mind to better support her own weight again. Pulling back, she turned to see just who it was who had come to her rescue.

The chiseled, scruff-lined jaw was familiar enough, but it was the empty sleeve on his other side that sold out who he was. Apparently in order to find him, she first had to get herself into trouble. "It is unwise to get involved if you have no way to defend yourself."

She pulled away from him further, narrowing her good eye. "I had a way to defend myself, I just didn't want to shoot unless it was a last resort. And are you suggesting I do nothing?"

Thinking and talking about taking a life was one thing, but pulling the trigger was another entirely. Her gun was not a tool she used lightly, once death left the barrel, there was no calling it back.

No matter how much one wished it to.

"Do you wish to stay alive?" His tone was hard, serious and had the undercurrent of insult to it.

The blonde halted her steps, swaying slightly as the support he provided disappeared. "I didn't become a cop just to sit by when people needed help."

He cast a glance behind her, his look hardening and his hand latching securely onto her arm. "We can speak of this later, if you wish for my further assistance I suggest you get moving."

Giving her a tug, he forced her to follow him, and it was then she noticed the grumbling of the guards behind them. "What did you say?"

Who was this guy that he could have such pull over people in this city?

He barely spared her a glance. "I told them you were a slave I had yet to break in."

Emma tripped over her own feet, and barely kept herself from yanking back again. Her voice raised a pitch. "I am no one's slave!"

With a growl he yanked her to him, bringing their faces scant inches apart, "Be assured my willingness to assist you is only to repay the help you gave me, I am not going to throw my life away for you. Now be silent woman, unless you wish to deal with your mess on your own."

She clamped her jaw shut, her temper fighting to say something, but she needed whatever help she could get, no matter how much it wounded her pride.

Apparently the show also helped sell his story to the guards, as they finally dispersed and turned their attentions to other things. The woman let out a breath, mentally cursing for not being able to handle it herself.

The cop held her tongue as the man led her through the streets and down several back alleys before finally coming to a stop at the base of a ladder. He looked conflicted as he glanced up the rungs and Emma couldn't decide if it was his ability to climb that he was nervous about or the fact he brought her to it.

Turning to her, he stared with narrowed eyes for a brief moment before blinking and shaking his head, muttering to himself under his breath. Gesturing with his good arm, he cast one last glance around, "Start climbing."

Well, that wasn't suspicious at all. She narrowed her good eye at him, struggling to push the throbbing in her face aside to focus on him. Heart pounding in her ears, the world barely faded before snapping back, too quick to reveal any outline to him. Damn it. Her gut would have to lead here, and so far it was saying to get her ass up the ladder.

Briefly massaging her forehead against the residual thumping, she turned and stepped onto the ladder, quickly pulling herself to the roof. She sat with a huff upon reaching it, the effort of scaling the two stories more difficult than it should have been. There was no door up here, no roof garden,—though there was one two buildings over that she planned to never visit—only a single open skylight amidst latticework of thick, foggy glass. Why the hell did he bring her up here?

To his credit, the one-armed man made not a comment when he reached the roof behind her, and masked his pain completely, but for the bulging vein on his forehead. "The only way in is down, I advise you land lightly."

Huh?

He answered her unspoken question by stepping up to the open skylight, dropping down to hang by his hand and letting go.

No. Fucking. Way.

Pulling herself over to the opening, she leaned her head over, seeing the man glancing up at her with an impatient look. "This place has to have a door."

Because normal, sane people built _doors_ into their buildings, even secret ones if they wanted to be so special as to drop through the damn _roof_. He looked almost as if he already regretted this. "You are at it, if you wish for help come through, otherwise be on your way."

Emma winced as she measured the drop, definitely higher than any fence she'd dove from chasing after perps. The trick would be to roll when she hit the ground, but that was much easier done when moving forward instead of dropping straight down.

"This is going to fucking hurt." She groaned, swinging her legs over the ledge. There was a fountain on one side, clear flooring on the other. Soaked her clothes may still be, she aimed for the other. Lowering herself to hang by her hands, she had a moment to reflect on how stupid this was before she let go.

Her boots absorbed some of the shock, the rest shot from her ankles to her hips in a spike of pain that dumped her on her ass, back leaning against the fountain. This was why parkour was dumb and she refused to chase anyone who did it. Better to get a name and meet them at their house with a warrant.

"You should really invest in a door." She moaned, rubbing her ankles. Hell moving the pillows on the other side of the room could at least soften the landing some. Her companion looked less than amused as he turned and walked away, disappearing through an open doorway.

Wincing at the tingles still shooting through her legs, she pulled herself up and followed him. Other than the fountain and pile of pillows the room was relatively bare. Through the door was the opposite. Filled bookshelves and a cluttered desk took up an entire wall, papers threatening to spill onto the floor at the slightest breeze.

Sweet blessed mercy there was a fireplace at the other end, down to near embers but the man was stoking it and adding another log. Getting dry would be the best feeling. Without thinking or pausing, she started on the buttons of her uniform, peeling the long sleeves off of her skin. Damn it felt good just doing that.

The man spun to face her, hand reaching for something that wasn't there when she yanked on the velcro straps, the sound louder than she'd thought it be. He immediately turned his face away, pointedly not looking as he moved passed her. "Do you have no decency woman? Cover yourself!"

Emma blinked as she pulled the vest over her head, glancing down and wondering if the black tank top she'd worn underneath had somehow come off too. No, it was still there, only slightly damp where the kevlar had covered it. She frowned, "The important bits are covered!"

At least she hadn't stripped her pants off, but really? He took issue with seeing some shoulder and cleavage? Right, he thought it was the Dark Ages or whatever.

Good thing she hadn't been dumped here in a bikini, the man might very well have lost his mind.

Her gear belt was next to come off before she sat before the fire, keeping it close just in case. So far he had proven trustworthy and he did save her ass from those brutes, but with her sense not working properly, there was no telling for sure.

A blanket hit her from behind, falling over her face and muffling his voice. She pulled it off, finding it not a blanket as she thought—though large enough to be one—but rather a black robe like what he wore. "What?"

"I said I have no clothing for you, for now wear that until yours have dried." He was behind her somewhere, but glancing back proved only that he'd disappeared into one of the other rooms again. With a shrug she pulled the robe on, kicking off her boots, wrestling the ankle holster off and wiggling out of her pants. The clothes she hung on the poker stand next to the fire, where already the moisture was steaming away.

"Where shall I begin?" The question was quiet, as if he was asking himself instead of her as he came to stand next to her, a bowl in his hand.

"A name would be a good start." At least then she could stop mentally referring to him as 'one-arm'.

"I was referring to the injuries you have managed to sustain." His dry look suggested he did not appreciate the sass. "But a fair point, I am Malik."

What kind of weird-ass name was _Malik?_ Poor kid probably got picked on in school, no wonder he joined the reenactment; unless of course this name was part of the reenactment. Yeah, great, don't break character for an injured cop, oi.

He gave her gear a strange look as he squat to her level, setting the bowl on the ground. It was filled with water, a rag floating lazily by the rim. Grabbing the rag, he squeezed the excess water from it before bringing it to her face and pressing it against the bloodied cheek courtesy of one ring-wearing bastard.

"Shit! That's cold man!" She jolted away from it, the near freezing temperature of that water a shock against her flushed, puffy skin.

"Well Shit-that's-cold-man, I would say it is a pleasure but that would make a liar of myself." He delivered with a deadpan, lips pressed straight.

Oh, he was a sassy one.

Her lips quirked into a grin while his stayed impassive, he was good. "Emma, my name is Emma. And it would be a pleasure if you heated that water some, are you trying to freeze my face?"

"The swelling will not be reduced with warm water." He pressed it to her cheek again, dapping away the blood before rinsing it in the bowl and returning it to her eye. "Hold it there and let me see your arm."

Damn it was cold, but the woman had been in enough bar fights and back-alley brawls with perps to know the routine for a black eye. Catherine used to keep a tally board for her injuries on the job, it had gotten pretty impressive last year. She idly wondered how many points she'd get for being kidnapped.

Mentally shaking herself, she shoved the long loose sleeve up her left arm and held it out to him. The 'bandage' on her lower arm had come off at some point and the cut was bleeding again, but the one on her bicep was still there, soaked with more water than blood.

"How did you manage this? I did not see the guards use a blade." Even with only one hand he undid the other bandage quickly, that injury was bleeding more than she'd thought. Apparently a red cloth was not the best choice of color for gauging injury leakage.

He began washing them with another rag, his missing arm keeping him from stopping her flinching away. His steely look however, was enough to force her to _try_ to stay still….ish. "That was courtesy of the gate guards yesterday. I committed the horrid crime of trying to bloody leave."

His brows raised slightly as he continued his work, "You seem to make a habit of finding trouble. How did you get to the city?"

"Would help if I knew what city we were actually in." She stated dryly.

"I have already told you," He remarked, standing and walking away for a moment before returning, needle and thread in hand. "This is Jerusalem."

"Yes I know what city you _told_ me this is supposed to be, enough of the reenactment bullshit, where the hell am I?" Everyone's insistence on continuing this damn stupid charade was really starting to piss her off. If someone didn't break character soon they were getting their ass arrested along with everyone else that took it too far.

Malik tensed as he fumbled with the needle, his look serious. "This is no play, now tell me woman, how did you come by here?"

Jeezus fuck was he committed, "I don't know! I was investigating Abstergo when those bastards knocked me out and I woke up here in some alley."

He frowned at her, taking a long look between her, her clothes and her gear belt. He reached out to touch the belt and it was her turn to tense, fingers twitching, ready to go for her gun should he attempt a grab at it. The man did not go for it, rather returned to regarding her. "Where do you hail? I have not seen the like of these on any English, man or woman."

Emma was very nearly ready to bite his head off, until she took a look at his face and saw the honest confusion and curiosity there. Holy shit he really had never seen it before.

He couldn't be telling the truth about everything could he? As a cop she had learned how to spot the tells of a liar, but he had exhibited nothing of the sort. Every part of her training said he spoke the truth, or at least what he believed to be the truth.

Her gut was in knots at the implication. Jerusalem? It was a land surrounded by war and people not known for their love of Americans. Unless she could somehow reach an embassy there was little chance of making it out of there in one piece. There weren't enough swears in any language to describe her feelings towards those psychopaths at Abstergo. Didn't want to get their hands dirty killing a cop so instead they dump her in the middle of a damn warzone where the chances were high of someone else doing their work for them.

Even then….he should well know what a gun was, the fact no one seemed to recognize it nor carry one was throwing up all kinds of red flags. It was as if she really was in whatever year he'd said it to be. That was impossible though. Time travel didn't exist. Something else was going on here.

Blinking, she realized he was still waiting on an answer. "I'm from New York. I'm a police officer there, that's part of the tools I need for my job. Ahhh, kind of like your guards, except my goal is the actually keep the peace and protect people."

Some of his confusion cleared, but his frown still remained heavily in place. "They allow women such professions?"

This was going to get old _really_ fast if everyone kept taking issue with her lack of dangly bits down below. "Yes they do, we're allowed any job we want so long as we have the skills to do it. This is all part of the uniform."

She gestured to her drying clothes and he briefly felt her thick Kevlar vest that was steaming from the heat of the fire. His attention returned to her injury, the needle hot against her skin before it was piercing it. He was quiet for a long moment as he worked on the stitching, speaking only to give instruction for her to help hold the thread here, pinch the skin there and to _stop moving_. Emma had to grit her teeth against the rather painful abuse. Finally, as he was cleaning the last of his work, he asked, "Where did you sleep last night?"

Wincing slightly, she looked into the merry flames of the fire and the rather impressive amount of steam rising from the rest of her soaked clothing. "In one of those garden things on the roof."

His brows rose at that and the questions began again, mostly about her work, home and yes amazingly enough she was a single woman and had miraculously survived living and working on her own. _Shocker_. Emma returned his barrage with her own, flipping the wording and changing topics to try to catch him off guard, but his story never changed. He insisted this was Jerusalem, and that it could be nothing but 1191. They were at an impasse of each believing the other to be off their rocker. The cop had no idea how he was so convinced what he was saying was the truth, but not once did he falter or show signs of a lie.

"Emma," It had taken four reprimands to get him to drop the 'My lady' crap, but despite getting her way, the women felt less like she'd gained a victory and more like the man had just decided to give it to her. "You may stay here for tonight and I will assist you in finding suitable lodging on the morrow. The guards should have forgotten about you by then."

Gee, glad to know she was so bloody forgettable. At least in this case it would be a good thing. Malik, for his part, looked decidedly uncomfortable about the offer, and she couldn't help but liken his expression to the kid that stole the cookie but got away with it. A guilty conscious was a hell of a thing. She couldn't decide if there was some reason she wasn't supposed to be there or if it was just the backwards belief that an unrelated man and woman couldn't sleep under the same roof if they weren't married.

Despite his apparent apprehension, she nodded her appreciation, feeling the warmth finally return to her bones. "Thank you."

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 _ **THREE WEEKS LATER…**_

 _July 24_ _th_ _1191 (so Malik is still claiming)_

 _'Tomorrow' my ass. To be fair he did *try*, but unless I was willing to become a hooker (no thanks) there was nowhere for me to stay and no one was willing to smuggle me out. I was stuck—fuck I'm still stuck! Three damn weeks of this stupid charade and no one has so much as busted a fart out of character! These crackpots really believe we're in the past (and a week ahead, unless those Abstergo bastards had me knocked out for that long, totally plausible)._

 _The first few days were a cluster, this place gets fucking creepy silent at night, like I can hear Malik breathing in the other room. How do these people sleep without sirens and car horns?! And does seriously no one but Mr. Righty speak English?! Bah, means I'm stuck with him until shit gets figured out. He insists it's a far better fate than being stuck with *me*. Sassy bastard, I like him. He reminds me of a weird mix of Eliot and my brother Matt. Fuck I miss them both, they'd know how to get out of this and already be laughing about it while knocking back a beer. They don't even have beer here! Some bitter wine that would take a load to even get a buzz going and a nasty-ass ale…thing, worse than cheap vodka. By far the worst offense is the lack of coffee though. Malik claims he's never heard of such a thing. How the fuck do they expect me to act like a person in the morning?! I'm a cop, don't they know that stuff is my blood? At least it only took a few days before Malik just stopped talking to me in the morning. Good. His voice is obnoxious that early, and the dude is up at the damn ass-crack of dawn. How the hell does he do that without an alarm? More importantly *why*? I liked my evening and swing shift schedules, mornings and I do not agree._

 _Huh, I guess the Grump-meister was right about this whole 'writing stuff down' thing. Here I'd thought he'd finally lost what was left of his sanity when he hucked this journal at my head. For a cripple, he still has scary-good aim. Then of course he had to add 'so I can have some peace and you will stop defacing my maps'. Ass. Doodle on *one* map and he won't ever let it go! Jeezus I was bored! I'm not allowed to leave 'the bureau' (what is this a fed sting?), without covering every inch of my damn skin and hair. Even then blue eyes aren't exactly a common thing around here so I *still* get the looks. Oh, and of course, Malik as my escort. Pretty sure his skull is thicker than a donkey's, and he's as stubborn as one too. I don't need a fucking babysitter (one who won't stop trying to correct my language. Suck it propriety). That's you Malik, suck my non-existent balls._

 _Annnnnd he's looking over my shoulder, can I help you nosey? Ha, he can't read it! Score one for 'future' English. Finally I can feel a little less inept. He gave me something that was supposedly 'my language', yeah no. That wasn't even pig-latin._

 _Apparently he's going out and I'm not invited. Jerk. Cause *one* brawl in the market and suddenly I can't be taken out in public anymore. Yeesh. I know his arm's been better but he didn't have to seem so enthused to sideline me. At least I don't have to stay locked in the bloody room. Malik is an unflinching hardass on one particular detail. Every time he gets a 'visitor', I have to stay mum and out of sight like the red-headed step child. At first I'd hoped he was getting laid (might relieve some of that tension he's carrying) but nope, no luck. It was always men who came, one or two at a time and they never stayed long (thankfully, I can only stay quiet so long). I can't hear what they talk about through the closed door, but the secrecy is getting old fast. I don't know how much longer I can keep up playing nice, no matter how much I owe the man for saving my life. Anyway, crank-pants must not be expecting anyone since he just left with a 'Don't touch my maps.'_

 _ONE TIME, LET IT GO._

 _Bah, I've got to get out of this damn place before I lose my mind, or what's left of it._

 _How the hell am I supposed to end this thing? That's all for now? Until next time? Peace out bitches?_

 _If anyone can read this, help!_

Emma leaned back against the pillows, tossing the feather pen to the side and nudging the ink pot safely away. Damn, that amount of writing rivaled the day she and Eliot made bets on who could hand out the most tickets in a single day. She had won of course, but he claimed it was only because he couldn't make himself give anything more than a warning to the ladies. He did end up with more phone numbers though.

With a groan and the popping of several joints, she stood, taking her writing things back to the safe place of Malik's shelves. She missed pens, the entertaining novelty of dipping the feather in the ink wore off fast, half her words were lighter than the rest on sheer stubborn refusal to dip when it started running thin.

A thump in the other room had her cocking her head as she idly shuffled through her host's papers the same as she did every time he left her alone. A thin strip fluttered to the floor. She didn't give the strange writing a second thought as she tossed it on top, tucking her new journal under her arm and stepping out to greet the man she was coming to enjoy screwing with.

"Malik! I told you to say 'Honey I'm home!' when you came….fuck." She jolted to a stop, freezing in place as she took in the white-dressed visitor. The man (because hot damn that was all man under those robes) was most certainly _not_ the one-armed King of Snark. A hood covered the top portion of his face, but his chiseled jaw shadowed by a slight scruff and broken only by a scar over the right side of his lips was distractedly visible. Helllooo stud-muffin.

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"I am terribly sorry I cannot be of more help Officer, but as you can clearly see, Officer Harp left the building with the rest of the investigators." Eliot rubbed his neck as the Abstergo guard looped the video through again, showing a grainy image of what _could_ be his partner leaving the scene of the accident.

Three weeks, three bloody weeks she'd been missing. Other than her somewhat tamer nature the days before, there'd been nothing out of the ordinary leading up to it. Obviously she had been distracted by something, but she hadn't felt the need to share with him just what it had been. Now it seemed to be the potential reason for her vanishing. Of course the woman had left no clues behind as to what it was she'd been focusing on, so he was left to retrace her known whereabouts. This building just happened to be the last place she'd been seen, and according to the footage, she'd left with the other officers.

In other words, he was back to square one.

Eliot stared carefully at the guard, looking for any signs of nervousness. The other man looked as though it was simply another day on the job, no concern whatsoever. Heaving a sigh, he nodded his thanks and left, deciding to try digging through Emma's apartment again. There had to be _something_ he missed the first time.

A chill raised up his spine as he left the building, the cop turned to glance back but seeing no one blatantly watching him, he continued on his way. He wasn't done with Abstergo either, not by a long shot.

Something was definitely going on there, and he had a feeling his partner was caught in the middle of it. ' _I'm coming Emma.'_

* * *

 **Captain:** _Oh hi Eliot, haven't seen you in a while! We'll see the happenings of Abstergo next chapter, they have certainly not been sitting idle. Emma's journal will continue here and there, to give a better insight into her bright and sun-shiny thoughts aaaand it will play a role in the future. I know you all are probably saying "You said Altair would be here and you give us ONE paragraph?!" I know I know! There was going to be more of their interaction but the rest turned out so long and the way their meeting is going to go...well this was the best place to break it up. Until next time you awesome peeps!_


	5. Who Died And Made You King?

**Captain:** _EEEEEEHHH I GOT MY PUPPY! He's half Labrador, half Alaskan Malamute. His paws are huuuuge! I decided to name him Hawkeye from the show M.A.S.H., it fit his goofy personality. He's just an adorable little shit and I love him, even when he's being a handful!_

 _A lot goes on in this chapter and parts are done in a somewhat unusual way compared to how it's usually done, but I promise, it's all for a purpose! It's also the longest chapter yet and just *filled* with Altair so ah, enjoy our favorite grump :D_

* * *

Emma had all of a few seconds to take in the details of this newcomer she'd caught off guard before he was moving. She registered he was coming for her and got her hand to knife in her pocket just before she was slammed rather harshly against the wall.

"OW Mother of fuck!" She groaned, stars floating across her vision as her head pounded from its meeting with the stone. Blinking, she realized the stars weren't going away and in actuality it was the shine of the afternoon sun reflecting off of the steel hovering against her neck. Nice, really nice. Asshole.

"Who are you?" The stranger growled, his voice deep and threatening. The pressure of the blade against her neck increased, pricking her skin.

Emma forced herself to swallow her spike of nerves, choosing instead to quirk a brow at him. Her lips twitched into a mocking grin as she tutted an 'Ah-ah-aaah' while tapping her own blade against him. He'd moved too fast for her to be able to raise it, but it'd been pinned rather conveniently between them, more specifically the crotch of his pants.

"Why don't we have this conversation like civilized people before we do something you'll regret?" She kept the mocking tone, like hell was she going to be afraid of him. This was hardly the first time she'd been held at knife point.

His lips pursed impossibly thinner, and from so close she could see his eyes flash downwards. Ha, he didn't expect that one. Suck on that pretty boy.

The pressure of the knife eased as his body shifted back. Score one for the cop! He didn't lower his blade that was, oddly, somehow attached to his arm with a weird contraption and….no ring finger. Well he was committed to his weapon she'd give him that. His right hand moved, her momentary distraction giving him the chance to get a grip on her wrist and pin it to the wall all while regaining his previous position. His grip was iron, and her knife fell from limp fingers. Shit.

"I will not ask again. Who are you? And where is the Rafiq?" His tone hadn't changed from gruff and threatening, nor had the scowl twitched a bit. Emma guessed that with manners like this, it was probably a permanent fixture to his face.

"The what? You're in the wrong place if you're looking for Rafiki. The hell do you want a baboon for anyway? Scratch that I don't want to know." She cocked her head slightly, winced at the bite of the blade and straightened again. Best time to be a smartass? No probably not, but she'd reached the point of no longer caring about the consequences of it. "Now that you've established your dominance can we please talk about this like normal people? Come on, use your words, not a compensating knife."

"You speak in riddles, make sense woman or I shall not hesitate to kill you." Really? _Seriously?_ He was threatening to kill her over her not answering where the 'Rafiq' was?! The fuck was wrong with this guy?

"She is incapable of speaking sense." Ah mercy! Emma never thought she'd be so happy to hear the dry tone of the Sass-master. "And I warn you against killing an innocent in _my_ Bureau."

The stranger shifted, dropping her wrist to look behind him at Malik and Emma was surprised at the utter dislike splayed across her host's face. That level was a first, even with all the times she swore or partially undressed in front of him.

"Safety and peace, brother." The words came stiffly from the newcomer. The cop had seen it enough to know when there was bad blood, and these men had it in spades.

"Your presence here deprives us of both." Malik growled back, stalking past to drop his basket of supplies onto the table. "Why are you here Altair? I had no word of your coming."

"Uh, there was pigeon-news stuck under one of your maps." Emma offered in an attempt to cut through the rising tension between the two men, but also (and more importantly) return their attention to the fact there was still a damn knife to her throat. While Malik found the slip, the cop turned her attention to the stranger, who was watching her with a mix of distaste and wariness. Yeah well, the dislike went both ways buddy. Throwing a pointed glance at his blade arm, she raised her brows, "Down boy."

He didn't budge.

"Release her already Altair." Malik snapped, and it was only then that the hooded man stepped back and lowered the weapon. Finally. "And you," She jolted at realizing he was addressing her, the slip clutched in his one hand, "This is precisely why I tell you not to touch anything."

Biting her lower lip, she ducked her head slightly in silent admission of that particular guilt. Lesson learned on that one, no shuffling the pigeon-news into everything else unless she felt like tempting bodily harm.

"Now leave us, there are things that need to be discussed." Emma frowned at the order, same as it always was when he had guests, though usually he never let them see her to begin with. But three weeks of the secrecy had worn down her patience and goodwill. There was only so long he could keep this up before she found out and she was tired of being kept in the dark. No more. The cop in her needed answers.

Hands planting on her hips, she gave him a simple and direct "No."

The silence that followed was deafening as both men stared at her. Perhaps not the best timing given the amount of anger radiating from Malik but she was done waiting for his convenience. "We will speak of this later."

His words came through clenched teeth, a clear demand that he not be refused a second time. The avoidance of the issue only served to spike Emma's short hold on her temper. "No! I am not some pet you can send away every time you have business! Three weeks I've let you keep your secrets but I'm sick of it! What the fuck is going on here?"

"You allow a woman to speak as such?" Altair sneered. Emma felt what little restraint was left snap.

"He doesn't allow jack shit because I am no one's damn property!" She snarled, advancing on the man and jabbing a finger into his chest. "I am fucking tired of the sexist remarks! Just because you have a dick doesn't give you rule over the rest of us! Now if I don't start getting some damn answers then someone's ass is ending up on the floor!"

"Enough!" Malik roared over whatever response the other man was about to deliver. "Go Emma, we shall continue this _later_."

It was the loudest and angriest she'd ever heard him, but it would give him the chance to stall and come up with some lame-ass cover. "Now! Unless you wish to try your luck on the streets again."

The cop snapped her jaw shut, fists clenched at her sides. That was a low blow and not a threat he'd ever made out of anything but amused annoyance before. This was different. There was an edge to his voice that said he just might do it. It only served to flare her anger more. A man she _thought_ she could have counted as a friend after living together for nearly a month clearly hadn't felt the same. No, she was still just a nuisance guest he was growing tired of. Fine then. With a growl she turned on her heel and stalked away to the stairs and up to her borrowed room.

"Fuck them and fuck this god-forsaken city." She rumbled to herself as she paced in front of the stack of pillows they called a bed, too wired to sit still.

She was going to find out what they were hiding, whether they wanted her to or not. Forcing herself through a few deep breathes, her heart thudding in her ears slowly quieted to a dull drum. Silently slipping from the room, she made it partway down the walkway before she sank to the floor, back pressed against the wall and ears straining to pick up the conversation below.

"….endanger the Brotherhood by allowing this." It wasn't hard to discern the voice of the newcomer, his tone laced with a level of arrogance she'd run into more than a handful of times on the streets of the big city.

"Do not speak to me of the Creed _novice_. I am not the one doing Al Mualim's menial tasks in a pitiful effort to redeem myself."

"And I am not hiding a potential spy in the bureau."

"I owe you no further explanation. Now be out with what you want so you can leave." There was muffled movement as Malik came further into room, a _thunk_ against wood as he dropped what was most likely a book onto it.

"Tell me all you know about the man called Talal." The entitled demand had Emma rolling her eyes. What the hell made this guy think he was so damn special?

"It is your duty to find and assassinate the man, not mine." Malik snipped back.

"You would do well to assist me, his death benefits the entire land." Wait, back up, hold the phone. ASSASSINATE?! These fuckers were assassins?! Well wasn't that just fan-fucking-tastic. Here she'd thought she'd gotten lucky getting help from One-arm, figuring at worst his deal was drugs. Oh no, she'd been living with hired killers. Just perfect. Really, how much worse could this damn charade get?

"Do you deny his death benefits you as well?" Even better, a dude that killed for himself.

"Such things do not concern you." Obviously, killing whoever he damn well felt like was only a 'concern' to himself. Made perfect sense.

"Your actions very much concern me!" Malik snarled. There was something there, no doubt the source of the bad blood between the men. Emma softly snorted, because it was such a surprise that a feud should erupt between killers.

Quietly she edged back to her room as the conversation turned into locations of the city where information could be found. There was potential to intervene if she had a damn clue as to the layout but given the limited exploring Malik had allowed she only really knew the area around the bureau. No better time to learn than now. With any luck this whole thing was just part of the LARPing experience and no one was actually in danger, but given the very real steel that had been pressed against her, it wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

The weight of the gear belt on her hips was like the grip of an old friend. There had been no point in wearing it around the bureau, but now she had a case, finally. Any longer and she was about to discover the true meaning of 'cabin fever'. A well-worn dress Malik had acquired for her during her first week went over her completed uniform, a cut on the side giving her easy access to her gun without flashing it for all to see. Strapping her ankle holster on and sliding the six-shooter into place, she glanced around the sparse room. There was nothing left of hers to take. The journal she'd left downstairs would have to stay. A pity, she'd somewhat come to like the thing even after only one entry; but given the rather obvious wearing she'd done on her welcome and her current plans, she rather doubted she'd be allowed to come back for it.

By the time she'd finished lacing her boots it had gone silent downstairs, indicating that like most of Malik's visitors, Altair had probably left already. Good riddance to that asshat. Slipping onto the walkway, she held her breath as she listened for Malik. He was no longer at his desk but seemed to have gone to his own room. There was no telling how much longer he would be in there, so she had to move fast. Walking on her toes to reduce the sound of her boots against the wood stairs, she skipped the fourth and last steps that squeaked. Nothing indicated she'd been heard.

Her journal was there on the table but she bypassed it with a grimace. There was nowhere to carry it and keep her arms free. Besides that, there would be nothing to write in it with. Reaching the fountain without incident, she scaled up it somewhat clumsily, wincing as her boots slipped on a thin ledge. It'd taken three days to figure out how the hell to get out without losing her grip (Malik blatantly refused to install a ladder), but learn she had and so it took barely half a minute before she was standing on the roof under the blazing sun.

Parkour was still dumb and that was the furthest extent she would ever do it.

Pulling her hair back, she tied it up with a hairband that had somehow managed to survive three weeks of near-constant use before pulling a hood over her head. It was like intentionally putting herself in a sweatbox just to freely move around, but given the alternative, there was little choice.

With no idea where exactly the man had gone, Emma picked a direction and let the motion of the crowd set her pace. Strange looks were still thrown her way when anyone caught the color of her eyes, but no one made a comment against her. Her heart pounded, the familiar exhilaration of undercover work swelling within her. Ah she had missed this, missed doing her job. Three weeks had by far been the longest break she'd ever taken from it, and she didn't intend to do so again.

Keeping her head on a swivel, she searched for any sketchy behavior that indicated someone might have information the assassin could want. A few whispered conversations here and there, too quiet for her to hear, but mostly it was merchants attempting to make their products seem like the newest must-have. Advertising hadn't changed all that much it seemed.

As she wandered in her set direction, she let her mind mull over the facts. Three weeks she had been stuck in this 12th century Jerusalem and not one person had slipped up to indicate it was anything but. How escaped her. The machine the Abstergo bastards had shoved her into had given her one hell of an acid trip but time travel? Really? That was pseudo-science! It was as likely as astrology actually being legitimate.

What she couldn't deny was the evidence. Personal bias aside, nothing about the city was simply a prop, it had been built to last and the people were genuinely living in it, surviving off of the food they purchased in the markets and the water pulled up from the well (and promptly boiled). The biggest one was the noise, or lack thereof, overhead. In all her time there, not one jet flew overhead. Sure areas of the Middle East were relatively 'no fly' zones due to the warfare, but not even the thump of helicopter blades ever cut through the quiet of the night. No distant sound of bombs, no dull roar of passing Humvees, not a single sound to indicate the presence of modern warfare within the surrounding fifty miles.

But time travel wasn't _possible!_ Shaking her head, she forced the ridiculous notion aside and focused on her surroundings. She'd reached a corner of the city, the wall looming large above her and stopping any attempts to continue in her previous direction. The chances of her finding one man in this city were pathetically dismal, as had been proven when she'd attempted to find Malik all those days before.

Pausing, she idly listened to a man prattling on in Arabic. Only one or two other people were genuinely listening to him, the rest passed by without a second glance. She was about to move on herself when she recognized a single word. Talal. The man the assassin was after.

A possible informant if she'd ever seen one. Too bad he probably didn't speak English. Even if he did she couldn't approach him with two guards posted on either side. She'd have to wait until he left and attempt to interrogate him them.

His speech lasted several minutes longer before he finally quieted, waved his hand in dismissal at the non-existent crowd and came down the steps. The guards did not follow him as he made his way towards the back of the building. Emma gave him a head start before she moved to go after him. Her steps halted when she noticed she was not the only one with that idea. It wasn't someone dressed in the usual colored wool of the citizens, but a man dressed in white and armed to the teeth. Altair.

Looks like her luck was finally turning around. Behind the building they slipped, into a narrow alley formed by the wall and partially populated by other armed men who were extraordinarily easy to provoke into brawls. A few women passed through towards a hidden garden, so her presence went uncontested. The speaker followed the ladies into the garden and Altair close behind him. Emma picked up her pace, a feeling in her gut saying that whatever the assassin was going to do was going to happen here.

Sometimes she hated when she was right.

Breeching the corner and entering the small cove revealed Altair smashing his fist into the informant's face while making rough demands in the native tongue. Emma moved on trained instinct, jumping forward and yanking back on his arm before he could deliver another blow. Twisting it behind his back, she shoved him up against the wall. Surprise worked to her advantage, and his body was completely under her control for those crucial moments. She only loathed the fact the cut in the dress was for the gun and would be awkward to use to reach her handcuffs, otherwise she would have slapped the restraints on before he could get a word in edge-wise.

"Your ass is under arrest for that. I'd read your Miranda Rights but frankly I don't think those exist in this shit-hole." Somewhat difficult though it was, she pulled the cuffs free and slapped one onto his right wrist as his target scrambled away. The vambrace was just thin enough the cuff latched. "Other arm asshole."

There was a strange _schink_ as his arm came around too fast and forced Emma to jump back, pain flaring across her right forearm. She had only a split second to see the blood welling through uniform and dress sleeve before she was yanked around. Solid brick met her back, the shiny silver blade now flecked with her blood once again pressed against her throat. Fuck.

"You are trying my restraint woman." He growled, pressing the steel harder against her skin before pulling back. Right arm raising, he let the handcuff dangle in front of her face. "Remove it."

Emma narrowed her eyes, clenching her jaw. "No. I'm not about to just let you go kill someone because it's beneficial to you!"

Altair gave her a sharp look, his eyes flashing around. Oh, so he didn't want the world knowing then? Good, she'd scream it from a damn tower if that's what it took to stop him. "Do not interfere in matters that do not concern you."

Just like that he dismissed her, turning on his heel and stalking in the direction his victim had torn off in, handcuffs dangling from his wrist. Emma followed, not bothering with discretion or keeping her voice down.

A large body jostled her from her blocked peripheral, an irritated voice snipping something in Arabic. Annoyed with the limited field of vision, she yanked the hood down, sparing the disgruntled thug a middle finger salute as she went after her bigger concern. "I'm a cop! Trying to murder someone is very much my concern!"

Many faces turned to face her as she came out from alley only a handful of steps behind Altair. It was absurd this 'conversation' was even happening, _how_ such a thing could happen was a little beyond concerning. The simple fact she hadn't shot him yet—or at the least threatened to—said a lot about how off-balance this situation had her. No training in the world would have prepared her for how to handle this one.

Her hand hovered over her gun but she hesitated to pull it. No one's life was in actual immediate danger in this moment. The only damage that had been done was to her arm and the speaker's face. She wasn't in the habit of shooting innocent men.

No matter what the media said.

"Hey!" Altair hadn't bothered to acknowledge the fact she was following him, had simply kept his pace as he headed in a set direction. How he knew which way the other man had gone she had no idea, but her gut said he did somehow. "There are ways to interrogate people _without_ harming them! What the hell is so damn important about this Talal anyway?"

The name was barely past her lips when he was whirling on her and for the third time she found herself pinned with the same blade against her skin. She gave him a flat stare, "This threat is getting really fucking old."

"How do you know of Talal?" He demanded.

"First of all, _back the fuck off_." Emma growled back. Tipping her head in the direction of a group of guards behind him, she added, "Or I'll scream."

He barely spared them a glance before making a pointed look at her hair that was falling loose from its restraint, "They will not assist you. Answer the question."

"Bite me." Screw him and his arrogant ass, she wasn't going to tell him a thing.

"You try my patience…"

She cut him off with a mocking "And I will not ask again. Please, we both know you won't do a damn thing so cut the high-and-mighty crap. Why do you want him so bad anyway?"

That was a total bluff based solely on a gut feeling that she was inwardly pleading was right. There was no telling just what this guy would be willing to do, but she was really hoping 'shish-kebob the cop' was not on his list.

"Go back to the bureau." He ordered, "Malik will have a more useful purpose for that tongue."

Emma blinked, his insinuation taking a moment to sink in. "I am not a fucking prostitute!"

Several more heads turned in their direction and the guards slowly began to inch their way closer. Good.

Altair unfortunately also noticed. Growling low to himself, he retracted the blade and grabbed onto her arm, roughly yanking her in the opposite direction. The cop dug her heels into the dirt, pivoting to swing her fist towards his face. Lightning-fast his other hand came around and clamped onto her incoming forearm, fingers digging into the bloody gash he'd so kindly gifted her with.

Emma swore, body hunching in a vain effort to protect the injury. His grip as tight as shackles and as unrelenting. "Come quietly or I promise you will not enjoy the consequences."

Instead of returning his pull on her left arm, he switched to her other side, keeping his hold on her injury and adding pressure when she hesitated to follow. There was little she could do but move forward, jaw clenched tight against the pain rolling up her arm. His hand was coated in her blood; he paid no attention to it as he forcibly led her down the streets.

A long string of names for him passed through her mind that would have impressed Eliot, yet his grip kept her lips sealed. It did not keep her from enjoying the mental image of him being hit by a bus however.

After too damn long of being led around by him, she began to recognize the streets and buildings. He was taking her back to the bureau. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself and yanked her arm against his thumb. It was enough to break the hold, but _fuck_ that hurt. Pinning her arm against chest, she silently dared him to go for it again. "I'm not going back. I'm getting out of this crap-fest after I make sure you aren't going to kill anyone."

Even with the hood blocking most of his features, she could see the cold arrogance rolling off of him. "You cannot stop me. And you are going. Climb."

Glancing to the right, she realized he'd gotten her closer than she'd originally thought. They were right outside of the building. Damn. "I am not some wayward pet you get to drag wherever you please!"

Turning on her heel, she started to stalk away from him. She made it only a few steps before being yanked back, weight hitting her abdomen before the world inverted itself and she was granted a close-up view of leather and red. The bastard had slung her over his shoulder like some rag doll!

"You stupid son of a bitch put me down!" She struck his back with her left hand, her right bracing herself and smearing blood over his white robes. The ground quickly dropped further below as he climbed the ladder with apparent ease despite her additional weight. It was a detail that made her irritation and spawning hatred of the man grow. The relief of reaching the roof was short lived, as he did not yet see fit to put her down. A scream worked its way out when he suddenly dropped through the entrance, the impact of landing against his shoulder cutting it and her oxygen off violently. He released her then, and distracted as she was attempting to breathe, her body hit the floor with little grace. The list of things she would have called him had she been able to suck in enough air to do so grew tenfold.

"What is the meaning of this Altair? Half the city must have heard the noise! There are already rumors of a plot against Talal going about! Are you so inept?" Malik snarled as he came into the room, the momentary shock of the scene quickly turning to annoyed anger.

"You can thank your _guest_ for that, she interfered with my interrogations. I suggest securing your entertainment better." Altair snapped back, turning to leave again.

"I have told you why she is here. _You_ allowed her to interfere. Be prepared for anything novice." Malik knelt beside the woman, taking stock of the damage done to her arm, "Was this necessary?"

His tone suggested he knew it wasn't and Emma silently seconded that opinion. Altair raised his still-cuffed right hand, "She attempted to shackle me."

A pained look crossed Malik's face, as if he'd much rather be anywhere else in the world, like a volcano, or shark infested waters. "Emma, remove your….cuffs from him."

She was a little surprised he remembered what she'd called them given it'd been three weeks since showing them off to him; didn't mean she was going to comply. Breath mostly back, she huffed, still flat on her back. "And let him run off to kill someone? I don't think so bucko."

Malik's eyes narrowed as he cast a glance between the two. "Wherever did you get the notion he was going to kill someone? His job is to gather information."

"She did not hear it from me." Altair defended with a low growl.

"You told him it was his job to get intel and assassinate Talal, whoever the fuck that is." Emma pulled herself into a sitting position, glaring hotly at her host.

"He is not targeting anything other than knowledge today, you have my word. Now release the shackle and I will tell you all I can."

"Malik…" There was heavy warning in the voice of the other man, but the dark-robed Dai was hearing none of it.

"Another word Altair and I shall have her leave it. You allowed her to put it on in the first place, now be _silent_." Turning his serious stare to the woman, he raised his brows expectantly.

Emma chewed her bottom lip with a frown, pondering her choices. He _was_ offering potential answers and so far he'd come through with every promise he'd made, but there was the chance he was using that fact to bluff his way through this one.

Freely-given information had a better chance of being true than if she tried coercing them from him though.

"Fine." She growled, pulling herself to her feet. Tugging the stupid dress off, she stepped up to the arrogant ass, palming the small set of keys. "No one dies."

He simply glared at her order and remained silent, not even flinching when she let the cuff pinch his exposed skin as she unlocked it and pulled it free. Without another word he left, scaling the fountain wall in seconds. Emma made no move to comment on the blood still smeared across his back. Turning to Mali, she raised expectant brows at him, utterly unsympathetic with the sigh he released. Motioning her into the other room, he sounded as if all he wanted was good stiff drink. "Come, I shall need some tea for this."

Some hours later and with new stitches in her arm, Emma sat tapping a feather against the newly-filled page in her journal. This entry looked more like her usual cops notes, short-handed lists of all the information she had been given; which, despite Malik's obvious attempts to make it seem so, was not everything. There was still important pieces he'd left out of his explanation, but for now she let it go.

Based on what he'd told her, they were vigilantes who targeted those who abused their power at the expense of the people. The guards, of course, were all paid off to either ignore the activities or help with them. It was why they had to resort to assassinations, because arresting them wouldn't do any good when they were in control of the city. When she questioned who decided who died, he alluded to a leader that overlooked everything and set rules that protected the innocent.

It created a hollow feeling in her gut that this group was a lot bigger than he admitted. There had been no less than six who had visited in the three weeks she'd been there and given that their 'master' was not in the city, there was little doubt that they acted in other cities as well. All in all, too much for one cop to shut down.

Damn she needed coffee.

If—and that was a big if—things really worked like Malik claimed, then she was conflicted about what to do. She was a supporter of the death penalty for those that committed serious crimes but she also believed in the right to a trial. These supposed criminals were protected by what passed for the law in these parts, the only justice was dealt by these men. She refused to believe that was the only option. There had to be _something_ else they could do, real justice and not this retribution.

Figuring out just what that was with a corrupted system was an animal all its own, but surely with so man, they could come up with something! All they needed was a little inspiration and willingness to look beyond the use of deadly force as a first resort.

A thump heralded the return of Altair as he landed just feet in front of her. Damn, and here she'd been hoping for quiet for a while longer. She stayed where she was lounging against the pillows by the fountain as he went into the other room and spoke to Malik, who replied with extra snarky comments. She barely suppressed a snort when he suggested crying in the corner.

Evidently the man Talal was a slave trader, one who got his supply from the citizens themselves. There was little to like about the man from the sounds of it, the kind of scum she'd love to lock up and throw away the key. If everything went according to the visitor's plans, he would be dead by this time tomorrow.

Not that it was any great loss but the idea chaffed. Vigilantism wasn't the answer, it was too easy to begin targeting whoever was _perceived_ as bad instead of relying on concrete evidence. Where was the proof the man captured people and turned them into slaves? Where was his trial and conviction by a jury?

With a low growl she tossed the book aside and leaned her head back against the cool stone. This whole situation was a convoluted cluster fuck.

Altair walked back into the room with a scowl on his face, his focus down on the straps of his vambraces. Emma blinked at realizing his hood was down and he had yet to notice her presence. His short, dark hair and chiseled features couldn't distract from the rather vibrant red splatter across his front. One, she knew, was most certainly not from her.

It only took a cursory glance to see the blood ran the length of his sword as well. Lurching to her feet, she ignored his obvious look of dislike and growled, "What did you do? I said no one dies!"

"Remember your place woman." Altair snapped back, freeing the straps and tossing the vambraces into the pillows piled to one side.

Emma narrowed her eyes, hands coming to her hips. "It's right here, between civilians and killers."

"It is to be seen and not heard." He gave her a once-over with a sneer, "Though you are better off hidden as well."

Why that arrogant, sexist, son of cow's bitch. Taking a step closer to him, her fury was further fueled by the mockingly challenging raise of his brow.

"Listen here you little cocksucker…" _That_ wiped the condescending look right off his face; his left hand flexed, but he'd already shed the blade. _Ha_.

"Curb your tongue Emma, or God help you." Malik's voice cut over her oncoming rant, his tone thick with command and irritation. Her gut was telling her to follow his orders and escape the quickly rising tension in the room, to put as much space between her and the assassin as possible. Her temper told her otherwise.

It took a great deal of self-control to reign in the fire and listen to instinct, but her pride refused to allow a defeated retreat. Snatching up her journal, she passed the man in white with a steady glare, intentionally ramming her shoulder into his on the way by with a snarled, "This isn't over."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Three weeks! How is it not a damn thing has changed yet? She's still alive yes?" Otto fumed, pacing back and forth in front of the long table where, once again, all of the staff on this project were gathered.

Robin glanced down at her tablet, "According to the machine yes, it is the 26th of July and she is still in Jerusalem. In theory."

Because damn it all they still had not a single shred of concrete evidence that the woman was actually there. Otto turned his attention to Kevin, his lips pursing at finding the theorist utterly disinterested with what was going on. "Mr. Byron?"

Kevin idly taped his pen against the table, staring at nothing for a long moment before slowly turning his gaze to Otto. He gave him a lazy shrug. "I rather doubt that she's in some alternate dimension. Time travel this machine is capable of, but dimension splitting is an entirely different animal. Given that absolutely nothing has changed, I'm leaning towards the theory that history rights itself despite whatever she affects back then."

Given the stiff way Otto was grinding his jaw, it really wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. Oh well. Operation Firewall had been an unlikely success to begin with. The fact the machine even appeared to work was more than he'd ever hoped for. "We could still be working with the other theory and she's simply laid low these last three weeks and so hasn't changed anything yet. What is happening in Jerusalem around her?"

The head historian on the project pulled his nose away from his book, shoving his glasses back up his nose as he finally addressed the group. "On this particular day Altair assassinates Talal, I can only believe he has been in the city for a few days gathering information."

Otto nodded down to the few Codex pages on the table. "Has anything changed on them?"

Paul shook his head, the glasses sliding down again. "There is nothing different."

"There is the possibility that the woman was thrown into a prostitution house and will never come across any of the important men and be made note of." Kevin added, "She was thrown into a Saracen-held city in the middle of a war, they wouldn't take too kindly to her. Not to mention if we won't see the changes until they happen in her time, then the Codex won't be written for another few months. Even then it will only matter if she happens to come across the Assassin and make enough of an impression that he would take note of it."

Otto pinched the bridge of his nose, "Is there anything actually useful we've learned in all this time?"

"Well, Sir." Marcus pulled out a file he'd had tucked under his arm. "The officer's blood test came back with some interesting results. It seems she owed her remarkable arrest record to something other than pure skill."

Otto raised a brow at his man, "Out with it then."

Marcus chose instead to pass the file to his boss as he announced to the rest of the group, "She is a descendent of Edward Kenway. I believe the blood to be on her father's side given the long history of soldiers and law enforcement on that side. It would not be a stretch, given the strength of the markers in her blood, to conclude the possibility of her having some type of Eagle Sense."

Otto wasn't sure whether to swear or laugh. This could either be good for them or decidedly not. "She is alive then, no doubt about that. Those with the Sense have always been harder to kill. Is there any way of knowing which traits she inherited?"

Marcus shook his head, "Our scientists say no, there is no distinct marker for the Sense itself and it has a habit of manifesting itself in different forms. If she was unaware of how to properly train the senses, they may be weaker as well."

"Look into her family, find out what you can." Otto turned from his disappearing assistant to Robin. "Prepare the machine. We will send a team to Solomon's Temple and destroy Altair when he is most vulnerable. Robert has his journal there, they will write of their success in it and we shall know for certain which theory we are dealing with."

The frown that came over Robin's face was the warning to the potential speedbump she was about to throw at them. "The machine is still following the cop's genetic markers, it is how we are monitoring her location and time. I have no idea what may happen to her should I break the machine's lock, or if I can."

Otto scoffed, "You will find a way and what is one cop's life? I would gladly sacrifice the entire New York precinct if it meant ending those damnable assassins."

Robin nodded, Paul buried his nose back into his book, and Kevin closed his eyes.

Otto dismissed them with brisk instructions to be in the testing room within four hours. It was past time to begin the reign of the Templars.

Six of some of his best field agents stood before him as the clock wound closer and closer, armed and lightly provisioned. These men were trained to survive in any circumstance, and they were willing to do whatever it took for this mission. They were dressed in the Templar armor of the Crusades so as to prevent Robert from mistakenly attempting to attack them. No they needed the Grand Master alive to complete his schemes with the two armies. Without Altair, it would take less than two months for the armies to destroy Masyaf.

"You know your mission men. Succeed, mark the journal, and you shall be greatly rewarded upon your return home." The men saluted sharply before cramming into the machine. Robin had only been able to enlarge the platform a few feet but they managed.

The shout of 'Clear the room!' went out and everyone sans the agents filed into the viewing room. "Start the countdown."

Otto let a small smirk peek onto his face as the lights dimmed when the power was transferred to the machine. Sparks flew, light grew so bright it blocked the men from view and he could feel the heat even through the thick glass. It lasted only a handful of seconds before it died and the machine room revealed itself empty of the six men. Once again Robin had come through, it was a success.

"Begin monitoring Robert's journal immediately." He ordered, turning to leave the room to begin his own preparations for the changing future.

"Sir, there is a problem." Robin's words were the last he wanted to here. Slowly he turned to face her, hands clasped firmly behind his back and lips pressed into a thin line.

"Problem?" He clipped shortly. He'd given her a task and he was going to be sorely disappointed if she'd failed.

"I set the time for Solomon's Temple, but it refused to break from the cop's time. It stayed locked onto her. I'm afraid our agents ended up on the same day she is experiencing, somewhere outside the walls of Jerusalem."

Kevin's brows quirked, "Altair will leave the city if he hasn't already. If they don't intercept him then they will have to wait until he returns, or risk following him into the world he knows best. Dressed as crusaders I doubt they will be able to enter the city under peaceful terms until Robert's ploy at the funeral."

Otto nodded sharply. "These are professionals, they will do what they must to get the job done. Continue to monitor Robert's journal and alert me of any developments."

* * *

 **Captain:** _Aaaand the plot thickens, mwahahaha!_ _So I'm super nervous here, I really hoped I caught Altair right. I mean he's at the one-third mark of his 'recovering from asshol-initis', kinda. I know most stories have him as the 'silent moody' type but in playing the game...he's somewhat more talkative than that at moments unless dealing with lower assassins. Anyway, I hope he was believably himself, and everything that he and Emma know about each other *will* get revealed in due time when it becomes pertinent. Thanks for hanging around and please drop me a review to ease my nerves or give me tips on how to do better! Until next time!_


	6. Someone Find Me a Damn Compass

_**Captain:** What is this? Is this real? Am I actually alive? Holy crap I am! And with an update! Sorry for the long abandonment guys, life got a little busy and I never quite had the motivation to sit at the computer for leisure writing. Science majors will do that to you. But hey, only nine more months and I'll have my Bachelors in Wildlife Ecology, woo woo! And just in case _ya'll _are concerned (rightfully so), this will not be a one and done, I can guarantee it, as I have the next few chapters well under way. I hope to get a little stockpile built of updates that just need a final editing so that_ ya'll can _continue to get new chapters even when the semester gets crazy (which it will, four lab classes and senior thesis, eek). This fic is kind of my baby so I really want to do right by it and all of you faithful readers and not abandon it again. I hope to see it done and done to my satisfaction!_

 _I won't bore_ ya'll _with a long author's note about what I've been up to the last year and a half *shameful face*. I will just say a huge thank you to each and every one of you who decide to come back and give this story another chance. To those just discovering it, I welcome you. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"You son of a b—." A filthy rag shoved into her mouth effectively cut off Emma's insult as she struggled against the bonds that rather effectively kept her immobile.

"Do you ever cease creating noise?" Altair snarked, his expression of distaste once again present as he secured the gag before stepping away from her. He didn't loiter after that, rather he scurried up the wall and out of sight, leaving her alone and securely tied in place.

She still wasn't exactly sure how the hell it had gone so wrong so quickly. One moment she was attempting to sabotage the assassin's weapons in the predawn light and the next he was there, very much awake, alert, and thoroughly handing her her ass. There was hardly time to make it much of a fight before he'd somehow gotten the ropes around her and it was over.

Now she was stuck in the empty Bureau with nothing but her seething temper for company.

Damn him. Damn this place and damn those bastards responsible for sending her here!

Struggling proved fruitless against the knots and the asshat had taken her knife, the only escape would be whenever Malik wandered back.

However long that would be.

She felt the dam cracking, struggled to patch it before it could leak. She'd held it together this long, kept up a strong front. She couldn't let it fail now, couldn't allow herself to indulge the weakness. Whatever it took, whatever distraction it required, she couldn't break.

Seconds ticked by slowly, every miniscule noise grating against her defenses.

Hanging her head, she let out a shuddering sigh through her nose, squeezing her eyes shut against the pressure building behind them. Her nerves were as frayed as the rope was making her wrists, the strain of the stress from the last month driving her to wit's end. Not even attempting to bring in some familiarity by doing her job had worked. She just wanted to go _home_. She missed her father training her to be a better cop, she missed Matt putting her into headlocks and threatening his military buddies to stay away from her; she missed Eliot's flirting and her best friend smacking her for not taking care of herself. Any one of them would have been able to handle this better. Her partner would have slipped away in the dead of night, her brother was unmatched in hand-to-hand combat, and Cat could sweet talk her way out of anything. But Emma was stuck in the middle, too brash and hot-headed for one and not strong enough for the others.

"I wondered at the quiet." Malik mused as he gave her a once-over. Emma blinked, having completely missed his drop through the roof. There was a slight smirk on his face as he approached. Emma attempted to answer his comment with a glare, but all she managed was a look with no heat behind it. His steps hesitated and he cocked his head before kneeling in front of her, reaching for the gag. "I gather you attempted to stop Altair."

The gag was removed, Emma worked the stiffness from her jaw as Malik prepared himself for the oncoming tirade. It didn't come. Not even when he worked the knot binding her wrists loose. She sucked in a breath, ready to bring one forth. The air fluttered out as she let her head thunk against the wall, muttering only, "Tried, failed."

She didn't have it in her for a rant, she barely had it in her to move. Defeat etched itself into every muscle, every nerve, sapped the energy from her bones. Malik stared at her, unmoving with what looked somewhat like concern mixed with anger spreading across his face. "What did he do?"

Emma blinked slowly at him, "What?"

"What did Altair do to you?" He clarified, making a point to look her over again, "I have never seen you so…tame." Fury he expected, or a stubborn refusal to listen or give up whatever mission she'd assigned herself. Not this. This was unsettling.

Emma gave him a one-shouldered shrug, still unmoving from her place on the floor despite freeing her ankles of the ropes. "He didn't do anything."

She wanted to blame him, to curse and scream and rant against the assassin, but there was little point. There was nothing it would accomplish, it wouldn't help her get home.

"Except truss you up." Malik added dryly. Emma's repeated half-shrug was the automatic response.

Heaving a sigh of his own, the one-armed Dai stood, taking the woman's hand in his own and pulling her to her feet. She didn't resist when he led her into the other room and placed her before the dead fire. It was silent as he moved about, shuffling some things aside.

"Emma." She blinked, eyes finally meeting his and wondering when he'd pulled up the other chair.

The woman had never felt so lost. "I want to go home."

Her voice cracked and she looked away, staring into the grey ash of dead coals. Weakness was never something that was easy to show. She abhorred it. The sarcasm and anger were her armor against it, and it'd been years since it failed her. It was shattered now, no pieces left large enough to hide behind. She felt exposed and raw, a feeling that failed to lessen when she wrapped her arms around herself.

A callused hand cupped her chin, forcing her to look back at the man, "If there was a way, I would take you there."

She believed him. The evidence was stacked against her denial, and it was but a fool's hope that she clung to now that this was all still some elaborate play, that this wasn't the past. Whatever it was, she was stuck here, and Malik couldn't help her get back.

"I don't know what I'm doing here." Her eyes burned, her vision blurring. She felt like a damn child mixed up in something too big for her. Malik stayed quiet, and it was all the prompting she needed for the dam to burst completely. "I don't belong here; I can't speak the language, I don't have a damn clue what's going on out there and I can't even do my damn job! I can't stop a murder I know is going to happen and….and I miss my family, my world."

Her voice ended in a whisper as she rubbed her eyes, struggling to keep the frustrated tears at bay. Malik sighed, casting a long look across the room before he faced her again, his expression one of understanding. "It is much different here, than what you knew. Where you are from guards protect, here they are little more than hired swords. They protect only their master's interests, good or ill. Right and wrong have little meaning to them. Justice and protection for the people come at the end of a blade." He paused, letting it sink in for a moment before he went on, "The man Altair is after today is a slaver; he abducts people from the streets, from their homes, and sells them to the highest bidder. He has paid off the guards to help him and the regent looks the other way. Altair's work will put an end to this suffering, it is the only way."

Emma chewed her lip as she digested the information. It was obvious things were screwed up here, that the usual methods of dealing with those types of people wouldn't work. It didn't sit right to just roll over and accept that this was the only way, but if this was somehow really the past, then that was how things had to go. There was nothing she could do to change them, not when her methods wouldn't be invented for another few hundred years. One person could change a lot, but she couldn't take on reforming the entire world's justice system, not when so much was run by the corrupt and nothing could hold them accountable. Nothing but a blade in the crowd.

She rubbed her face, feeling more exhausted than she had since arriving in this place, "I don't belong here."

Malik regarded her for a moment, "You may not be from here, but I do not doubt there is a roll for you to play. You would not have been brought here for no reason."

The cop snorted, "I'm here because I broke into a building with people doing some shady shit. They caught me and needed a guinea pig for their newest experiment."

She'd never divulged the details of her coming to the city, and Malik noted the new information with a frown. "Guinea pig?"

"Test dummy, chances of survival are usually pretty slim. I probably wasn't even meant to live through it." She could still feel the heat of the machine against her skin, see the flashing landscapes. It made her wonder if the test had been a success or not. Did they want her to end up here? Or had she been meant to land in some other time? The thought of using history as a playground made her head spin. There had to be some potentially world-ending consequences to that.

Malik gave her a sideways grin, an attempt to break the darkening mood, "You snuck into a guarded building?"

Emma let out a soft laugh. Yeah, in hindsight her 'plan' had been pretty dumb. "I was given intel that they were involved with some people who'd gone missing."

She paused, noting the almost ironic parallels with a dry chuckle, "Except I never did find those people or who was in charge. Even if I did find the bastard, he's got the money to have gotten away with it."

At least it would have been a slow-burn case that would have tarnished his name beyond employability; but without bodies, Abstergo would have lawyered up, cut the man, and escaped clean.

"An assassin could have put an end to that." Malik mused.

"Murder doesn't fly like that, we investigate every one with equal importance. And we have a justice system that cares about the people. There are entire teams dedicated to monitoring the rich and powerful." It wasn't perfect, but neither was theirs.

"You feel the need to continue your work here, I understand." Malik laid his hand on her shoulder. His look held more knowing than just sympathy, and Emma was suddenly painfully aware that he'd been facing the same problem. The details differed, but the end result was the same. "You cannot enjoy the freedoms you are used to, there is no place for your work in this world. Instead of forcing yourself to follow that same purpose, perhaps you should instead find a new one."

Emma didn't know how to respond. He was right, of course, but… "Being a cop is all I've ever known. I knew I was going to be one when I was five."

It was in her blood, there'd never been a question. "Then it is time to find something else to define you, something you have chosen for yourself."

What else was there? For twenty years she was sure of her career, she'd been living it for the last five. How could she move on from that? And in a place where her options were so limited no less.

A draft shifted dark cloth. Her eyes caught the empty sleeve of Malik's robe, held for a moment, before ducking away in shame. He was only speaking to her of advice he'd had to come to terms with himself. Like her, his entire life and all his plans had been ripped away in one brutal act. He was left with only the option to reshape himself with a much more limited range of options. At least she still had all of her limbs intact, and the worse wound had been delivered to her pride. She should count herself lucky, but there was a selfish part of her that reminded her a one-armed man still had more opportunities than a woman in this place.

It was ass-backwards here and she hated it. She already had to prove she could do her job on the streets, but here she'd have to prove she could do more than just pop out kids. It made her grateful Malik seemed to see that; that whatever notions he had about a woman's abilities were either ahead of his time or he just kept quiet about them.

A bell tolled in the distance, interrupting the quiet and whatever it was Malik had been about to say. His face pitched into a frown and he muttered several phrases under his breath that Emma had little doubt was what passed for swearing in Arabic. In the month she'd been there, the bell had never rang more than once. Now it rang repeatedly and she looked to her host, "Malik?"

He stood, making his way to the other room, where the sound rang louder through the open roof. Emma followed him, "What does it mean?"

"It means that Altair has most likely succeeded in his task, but in a manner that attracted attention. They will be hunting him, and they will use the excuse to harass anyone they please." He grabbed a thick rope hooked along the wall and pulled. A hatch slammed over the opening, muting the sound of the bell. "Best to stay inside and out of sight for a few days."

"A few days?!" If that didn't spell potential cabin fever she didn't know what did, "I thought death was something they looked over here?" She'd seen that for herself more than she cared to.

Malik shot her a dry look, "Normally they do, but Talal's death will result in fewer coin for the guards, and that is something they take personally."

Emma blinked, realizing that the city guard was less like a corrupted justice system and more like the enforcers of a mob. It meant even with the tumor gone, the cancer was still there; a new leader would no doubt pop up, and the cycle would continue. Looking at Malik, she realized that was the point of his being here; to keep the new leaders in check, and remove them when the need arose. She wondered if they knew it would never end. Despite very different methods, their end goal was the same. It wasn't the easiest pill to swallow, but she'd choke it down anyway.

"I won't apologize to him." She jerked her head toward the hatch, "But…I suppose I'll try not to interfere, so long as the civilians are left alone."

"Stay your blade from the flesh of innocents. It is one of the rules of our Creed." He arched a brow, "Altair deserves no apology, his arrogance is what allowed you to interfere, and he could stand a few more blows to his pride."

The animosity was thick in his voice, suggesting he wouldn't mind the assassin taking a few hits to something other than his ego as well. Emma cocked her head, curiosity finally winning out over courtesy. "What did he do?" She gestured towards the empty sleeve, "Is he responsible for that?"

Malik looked away, sporting a fierce scowl as he moved back towards his bookshelves and slipping behind the counter. "This was the least of his crimes."

Damn, what the hell else did the bastard do? She wanted to know, but the man offered no more, and the pain in his eyes kept her from pushing. So she was quiet as she followed him, chewing her bottom lip.

"Tell me of your life before all of this." She shifted, knowing it was an intentional turn of the conversation away from him.

"What do you want to know?" Once he'd believed her story of being from the future, he hadn't asked much and she hadn't offered.

Malik gave her a steady look, "You have spoken little of your family and friends. I cannot take you home; speaking of it may help."

Emma glanced away, chewing her bottom lip in thought as she leaned against the counter. She gave in with a loose shrug, perhaps he was right. Then again, speaking of them out loud would make it real, that there was possibly no way home. "Mom left before I was old enough to know her, so it was just Dad to raise my brother and I. He was a cop like my grandfather, taught me everything I know and was there for me when no one else was. He pushed back his retirement until after I graduated the Academy. 'There's been a Harp wearing the badge since 1838', he walked the beat an extra two years to keep from breaking that."

It was a fact David had always been extremely proud of; that their family had been in law enforcement since its start in Boston. Where their line went beyond that no one really knew for sure.

Ever since her brother had chosen to take a different path, she'd known it had fallen to her to continue the tradition. She _couldn't_ get stuck here forever and be the reason the line broke.

Before she could brood on that train of thought there was a bang against the shuttered entrance, a muffled swear followed by a silence only interrupted by the continuing bell. Malik scowled in the direction of the noise and Emma took a guess that it had been Altair attempting to return, only to find the door shut. There was no telling where he'd go until Malik decided to open the hatch again, and frankly, she didn't care.

The interruption had broken her confidence to keep talking though, so she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and worried it instead.

The importance of the people she spent her life around had always been in her mind, but stuck here without them made it all the more painfully clear. She was adrift at sea, and none of her stars were there to guide her way.

Malik placed his hand on her shoulder, giving a light squeeze. There was nothing he could say, no promise he could make to make things better. He was simply there, and the sadness in his eyes spoke of an understanding for her pain.

The stars may be hidden, but perhaps there was a lighthouse in the storm after all.

A good while later, after the sun had disappeared and darkness had reclaimed the city, a pigeon flew out the Bureau. Malik watched it go with a sour gut. It was right, of course it was, there was no questioning that, and yet…a tug at his mind. He shook it off as he returned to his bed. The bird was gone, there would be no turning back.

XxXxXxxx

Eliot raised his fist to knock on the plain white door before him, hesitated, then let his knuckles rap lightly. He held his breath, hoping the door wouldn't open, yet at the same time wishing it would. The keys in his hand weighed heavier than they had a right to.

It would have been simple enough to allow a tow truck to return Emma's car to her father now that it had been released from evidence, or arrange for him to pick it up himself, but the man was owed more than that. Eliot knew he had a debt he could never repay. Emma was _his_ partner, he'd sworn to look out for her as she had for him, to always have her back. But the one time she needed him most, he wasn't there. It was a guilt that sank heavily in his gut.

The door swung open, revealing an older man who looked as though he'd aged another ten years in the week since Eliot saw him last. A brief spark of hope flashed in his blue eyes before fading as he recognized the officer. "Anything?"

Eliot didn't have to answer, David Harp may have been retired, but his skills as an investigator hadn't dulled a bit, he could read his expression as easily as the morning paper. The younger man held out the keys instead, lightly clearing his throat of the knot threatening to form. "They released her from evidence, I figured it was the least I could do."

David's eyes traveled past him to land on the Camaro he'd passed down to his daughter. Eliot saw his lip tremble and pretended not to notice the way the other man's hand lightly shook as he accepted the keys. His voice was gruffer than usual when he nodded inside, "Come in out of the heat then."

It was a cloudy day and he was on duty still, he shouldn't; the higher ups were already getting annoyed with his neglect of other duties. He followed the veteran officer into the familiar home.

"Anything on your end?" It was an automatic question that came out before Eliot could think to stop it. He'd been to this house enough to know that if David wanted him to know something, he'd know it. He should say something else, anything else; he couldn't think of anything. It only echoed through his head that he failed the trust David had put in him to protect his little girl.

"My contacts still have ears out, but there's been no mention of her." His back was to the younger cop as he set the keys on the counter, a weariness to his shoulders that spoke of sleepless nights and a weight too great for one person to bare.

"She's still out there." It was as much an offer of comfort to her father as it was to himself. Hope was a precious thing to find and cling to, and every day it seemed to slip a little further from reach.

She had to be out there, no way Emma Harp would ever go down quietly. If there was no sign of her, it was because she was still kicking….somewhere.

"I know she's alive." David snapped, abruptly turning back around. "You think a father wouldn't know if his…" His voice cracked and he looked away, growling in a lower tone, "She's alive, we just have to find her."

Eliot knew that a parent's hope was a never-ending thing, no matter how long the case went cold. He just prayed his own would hold out so long. "You're sure she didn't mention anything before?"

David dropped into his chair, shoulders slumping as he wearily rubbed his face with his hands. "She didn't come to me for anything." Sometimes he couldn't help but wish she'd gotten a little more of her mother in her and a little less of his own stubborn nature. "Are you sure she left Abstergo?"

It was a broken record question, but Eliot could see there was something that nagged the veteran. "They have her on video."

"Video can be doctored."

"It's Abstergo David, why would an entertainment company take a cop?" They were putting out a new game this year, but Emma wouldn't have cared if there was 'top secret' information lying around about it, and it was hardly proper motive.

"Why would Emma be there in uniform on her night off and not tell you about it?" David challenged.

Eliot couldn't answer that. For a woman who was so vocal about her opinions, she'd been tight-lipped about that particular matter. He hated it. "I wish I knew."

"She may be a hot-head but she would have left a clue somewhere, we just have to find it." Therein lay the problem, Eliot had gone through her desk, her apartment, hell even her car, but there was nothing.

"I've gone through everything, if she left something I can't find it." It wasn't an easy thing to admit, but he respected David too much to try bullshitting him.

"Did you check the Camaro?" A new voice asked, a man not much older than Eliot stepping into the room, a spitting image of what David probably looked like twenty years ago.

The cop tipped his head in greeting, "Every nook and cranny." It had been as fruitless as every other search. "How are you doing, Matt?"

Emma's older brother held himself like a Marine, all confidence and power. Anyone who didn't know him wouldn't be able to tell his right leg ended at the knee. His face, however, was just as ragged and worn as his father's, and sporting a dark beard he normally kept trimmed back.

"Keeping busy." His voice was rough, tired. He sank into the chair next to the cop, absently rubbing his knee where the prosthetic was strapped. "I've got my own contacts digging around."

It was almost a relief having so many eyes and ears out there, it was certainly more ground than the department could ever hope to cover. However, Eliot wasn't so certain either of the Harp men would bring leads to him before going after it themselves in whatever manner they saw fit. He knew he didn't have it in him to put them in cuffs. How could he? He wasn't deluded enough to believe he'd be able to stick to the books on this one either.

"Just promise you'll both keep me updated."

"You know we will." David answered for them. It was a hollow promise and all of them knew it. At most he could hope for a fair warning before things went to hell.

With a nod, Eliot stood, he didn't offer a false smile or a promise he might not be able to keep, but repeated an oath he'd made to them several times already, "I'll do whatever it takes."

David stood with him and walked him to the door, resting a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "We'll bring her home."

When the door shut behind him, Eliot let out a long sigh and let his head fall back, staring blankly up at the clouds. "What the hell did you get into?"

Tires squealed and a horn blared; his eyes slid down the street where a black SUV had cut off a tow truck as it swung into the street. The truck driver was swearing loudly out his window, shaking a fist as his load bounced against the tow rack. Obviously bound for the scrap yard, the car looked like it'd been driven through a house.

 _Or the steel supports and glass walls of Abstergo._ The cop frowned as he tracked the trashed vehicle until it disappeared around the corner. He'd glanced briefly at the finished report of the accident; it had been some old clunker picked up from a junk yard, bought with cash and not street-legal; most likely it had been some teenager's rebuild project. There had been no driver, so the car had probably been parked on the side of the street up the hill when the brakes failed.

That was the story anyway.

"Tell me you didn't." He muttered to himself, climbing into the cruiser another officer had dropped off for him and slipping into traffic.

She had.

It took him trying four scrap yards, the right words and flashing her photo around before the owner of Singer's Salvage gave him the affirmative. Rubbing his beard, the older man gave his uniform another glance. "Ya know, ya ain't the first to come around askin' about that load of junk."

Eliot felt a ball of dread sink into his gut, "Who else was here?"

The owner gave a partial shrug, "Never offered a name, just claimed it was involved in an accident."

Abstergo. The cop worked his jaw as a spark of fury flared to life. Stiffly, he gave a nod of thanks before turning to leave. That stupid, reckless, woman. What the hell was she thinking sending a _car_ into a bloody _building_?! And not one owned by just any company, oh no, she had to target the one with the best lawyers sitting on retainer.

"Damn you, Harp." He growled to himself. What could she possibly have been looking for?

The fact Abstergo made no mention of knowing where the car came from, and that they were making no outward sign of wanting to hold anyone responsible for the damage, cast them in a seriously suspicious light. A gaming company would have no trouble doctoring up some video footage and it appeared they had motive after all.

Peeling out of the salvage yard, Eliot headed towards the precinct, half a plan beginning to take shape. He was going to find his partner, even if it meant a little secret investigating himself.

* * *

 **Captain:** _Sooooo yeah, that all happened :D. Yay for character development! Haha so yeah, Emma isn't always foul-tongued and short tempered, just extra so when under extreme stress, which, lets face it, we'd be a little freaked if we ended up in what is essentially a different world. Malik, at least gets to see the other side! And hey, we know what Eliot's been up to now! Again, I apologize for such a freakishly long break. Hope ya'll are willing to drop a review and let me know if I screwed up anywhere after being away for so long! Until next time!_


	7. Wait, What?

**Captain:** _Hey there folks! Look! An update within the same year! *nervous laughter*. Ahem, as I figured, this semester is thoroughly kicking my ass (whyyyyy did I have to like science?!) and most all of what little free time I have is spent with my puppers and research for my thesis. Soooo sadly, I haven't been able to write, well...much of anything lately. There was also some...ah...family stuff that came up. So I guess you could say stuff has been crazy, but I didn't want to give ya'll an update and then leave you hanging until winter break, so here ya go! Like usual, no promises for the next update as all current writings are for my classes, but here's hoping I get a little breather soon! Enjoy!_

* * *

Two weeks passed in relative peace. Altair left the city just hours after his successful assassination of the slaver, and after a few days, the hunt for him was abandoned. Despite the publicity of the murder, the city moved on much the same has it had done before, as if nothing had ever happened. It was familiar, in a way. Death could never hold its grip over a city for long, not in the modern world, and not now.

It seemed some things didn't change…or never had.

Malik never once brought up her break down. Like the city, he simply moved on as if everything was as it was. Only, once the heat had died, he gave her more jobs to do. Easy tasks even for himself, but they helped distract her. For that, she was grateful. The currency was a pain in the ass to figure out, but eventually she had the gist of it down, and he let her get a few supplies on her own from the market. The only condition, of course, was that she remain in the Rich District, where several of the other citizens had the money and education to know bits of broken English. It made the haggling and purchase sometimes more difficult than she was willing to admit, but the challenge of it thoroughly occupied her mind for those moments.

It made her question if it was all for her sake, or if Malik had an ulterior motive to it. The things he was purchasing, or sending her out for, were not the usuals she'd grown accustomed to. More blankets, a pack, more salt than either of them count consume in a year. He even made a point to send her out for her own cloak and clothing. All in all, it reminded Emma very much of preparations for a trip.

But he never said a word about it, didn't appear to pack a single thing of his away. If anything, his shop grew more cluttered as the days past. The cop wanted to say she could trust him, that she _did_ trust him, but as much as he seemed to do extra little things to keep her mind and hands busy, she couldn't stop the nagging feeling in her chest. Something was up, and she rather doubted she would enjoy it.

So she watched him with a careful eye, attempted to sneak peaks at the pigeon letters he received, and tried her hardest to eavesdrop whenever visitors dropped by. None of them were Altair, and so he asked she remain hidden when they were there, for the sake of keeping the knowledge of her existence to as few people as possible. If any of these other visitors were anything like the assassin, she was glad to be spared meeting them. Yet, for all her attempted snooping, not a single clue was ever dropped for what might be coming. When nothing happened for two weeks, she began to wonder if she wasn't seeing ghosts where there were only shadows. Perhaps it was nothing, she was simply reading too much into it. Malik had simply been stockpiling some supplies in the case of an emergency, or preparing for a possible eventuality that had nothing to do with her.

The one time she was able to bare the pounding head to focus all of her energy on him, he glowed the soft blue of an ally. That sense had never steered her wrong before.

She prayed there wouldn't be a first time for everything regarding this.

A thump from the entry room drew Emma's eyes up from the messy scrawls of her journal. Malik glanced up from his current map and screwed up his face as if he'd bitten into something bitter. He made no move to motion her into hiding, though. The cop raised a brow, before her expression quickly dropped to match the Dai's as none other than the white-robed asshole waltzed into the room. Two weeks was not nearly enough time to have free of him, nor had it dimmed any of her hatred for the man.

It took some fighting against her instinct to immediately open her mouth, but she kept her lips pursed and mum.

Altair, for his part, looked no more pleased to see her there.

"Safety and peace, Malik." He turned his back to her, lightly bracing a hand on the counter.

"Were it that the city was possessed of either. Why do you trouble me today?" Malik snipped back, the underlying intense dislike lacing his tone once again.

The assassin cast a single glance over his shoulder at Emma. She raised her brows expectantly, but made no move to speak or move. He turned back to Malik, "Al Mualim has marked Majd Addin for death."

The cop's pen made a sharp tap as she bounced the tip of the quill against her journal, but she forced her lips to remain shut. There had to be a reason for this Al Mualim to charge the man with a death sentence. The assassins only killed to ensure the safety and peace of the innocents in the city. They were the only form of true law enforcement. The blonde woman still ground her teeth at the flippant manner the statement had been made. Taking a life should be _difficult_ , damn it, should weigh on the mind. It should never be handed out easily. And yet, here it was, particularly by this arrogant excuse for a man.

"What can you tell me about him?" Altair asked after a brief pause. She wondered if he'd waited to see if she would say anything. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right. No matter how much she _did_ want to say something.

"Salahuddin's absence has left the city without a proper leader, and Majd Addin has appointed himself to play the part. Fear and intimidation get him what he wants. He has no true claim to the position." Malik tonelessly informed him.

Emma couldn't say there'd been any obvious change in leadership since she'd arrived, but if he was talking about the Saladin who led the fight against the Crusaders, then he'd most likely been gone quite some time. It was strange, hearing something actually familiar to her. A person she knew from history, who was alive at this very moment. Made her whole situation feel….just a little more real.

She chose not to let herself focus on it, and so made a note of the name of Altair's target in her book as he stated, "That ends today."

Evidently, hoping he'd magically get hit with a decent personality had been wishing for too much.

"You speak too readily. This is not some slaver we're discussing. He rules Jerusalem and is well protected because of it. I suggest you plan your attack carefully, get to better know your prey." If she could make herself ignore the fact that they were talking about murdering someone, even a terrible someone, she could believe they were talking about gathering evidence.

In a way, she supposed that was what it was. He gathered evidence against a known perp to find his whereabouts, only, instead of arresting him, justice was dispensed immediately. Or what they considered justice anyway. She was still unsure about that. Sure the city had improved with the death of Talal. People walked the streets a little more freely, talked a little more loudly and cheerfully. There was no denying that the man's death had improved things. She couldn't help but question what their standards were for their brand of justice, though. A slaver was a scum of humanity, but what had this Addin done, other than name himself the leader? Where did they draw the line? Too many important questions she couldn't answer, and that they were all too unwilling to go into detail about.

"With your help, I will. Where would you have me begin my search?" Emma blinked, torn from her thoughts at the words she couldn't believe had actually just come from Altair Asshat's mouth. Just what had possessed his body and graced him with the semblance of manners?

"What's this? You're actually asking for my assistance instead of demanding it. I'm impressed." It appeared Malik was just as surprised as she was.

"Be out with it…" Altair growled back. Ah, there he was.

A ghost of a smirk crossed over Malik's lips before he gave the assassin a few places to start. The church she'd seen from afar, but that was it as far as she went in knowing where any of those places were. She rather doubted she'd have the kind of luck she'd had before if she so decided to attempt to interfere again. She couldn't deny the urge was definitely there to do so, though, even if just out of spite.

"Thank you for your help, Dai." Altair nodded, moving to turn away from the counter.

"Do not foul this, Altair." Malik growled, all traces of his previous smirk gone. "Any of it."

The conversation was over. The assassin would leave to begin his information gathering and Emma could potentially find out what it was the target had done to warrant a death sentence. Malik was sure to be willing to tell her something, enough to ease her mind. Or at least keep her from actively attempting to stop Altair again.

"And you," She jerked her eyes up, having returned to a mindless doodle in the corner of her most recent entry. Altair was still there, his full attention on her. Malik was watching them both intently, though he made no move to say a word. His face had an expectant and wary look, one that said he knew exactly what the assassin wanted with her, and that she wouldn't like it. "Collect your things while I do my work. You will return to Masyaf with me when I am finished here."

She blinked once, twice. Her eyes narrowed as they flashed between the two men. The Dai remained annoyingly silent. "Excuse me? Like hell I'm going anywhere with you."

To his credit, the assassin remained impassive. "You will. The Master has ordered it."

"You will be safer in Masyaf than you are here." Malik put in, his voice equally placating and resigned.

Emma dropped the journal and pen onto the table next to her, slowly crossing her arms and drawing one leg over her knee. Her voice was a low growl. "He is no master of mine. And I am just fine right here, thank you very much."

Hell would freeze over before she'd go anywhere alone with the assassin. He tempted her far too much to attempt strangling him with her bootlaces. And she'd finally felt at least somewhat settled, and like she could develop a routine enough here that maybe she could start digging for ways to get home. Not that there had been any luck in that department, but damn it all she'd already had her world flipped on its hinges, she wasn't just going to let Altair drag her to wherever because his 'master said so'!

While the hood shaded his face, she could hear the mocking look in his voice. "You have been under the protection of the Assassins since you stepped foot in this Bureau. You are in our custody, and the Master has a say over whether you get to keep your life."

It was like a cold slap. He certainly pulled no punches with that claim. Emma balked under the imaginary chains of someone else being in control of her life. The Assassins were supposed to be about promoting safety and peace among the people, removing only those who threatened that. And yet this so called Master was really the puppet master of everyone. They killed who he pointed a finger at, it seemed. So long as the finger was pointed at bad people, they could keep their claim to their 'good cause'. And yet this one man who'd never even seen her face was capable of having her killed if she decided to make her own choices instead of blindly following whatever he commanded of her.

She didn't remember standing, but suddenly she was, glaring up into the dark hood at the hard amber eyes.

"Keep my life?" She hissed, "Does your creed only qualify innocents as those who follow your precious master's every word?"

Altair opened his mouth, but it was Malik's voice that cut through the rising tension, putting water over the growing fire. "You are going, Emma. It wasn't just an order to you that you go to Masyaf. You can refuse, but I cannot continue to house you if you do so."

Her teeth clanked as she snapped her mouth shut, her gaze turning to the one-armed man. She wanted to call him a traitor for siding with the enemy, for agreeing not only with this asshat but a man in a different city. And yet, she could hardly blame him. If this man really was the one who ran everything, then disobeying could mean bad things, especially to a man who didn't have many other options for work with only one arm. Malik's hand was tied. He'd helped her as much as he could, more than was ever expected. But now he was at his limit. She would have to go with Altair. She would have to leave the only familiar thing she'd found for complete strangeness.

"Fine." Her original goal had always been to leave the city, after all. She'd simply been unable to find a way to do so. Now one was being handed to her. Perhaps the answer to her getting home was out there, beyond the massive walls. Altair was only one man. She was a cop who knew how to survive in desperate situations. No doubt a moment of escape would present itself. And if it was really all a choice of remaining in the protection of the Assassins, there would be no incentive for him to come after her. He'd be glad to be rid of her presence no doubt. Just maybe, if luck could find it to side with her, she might even find some real help and get home.

Altair eyed her, as if suspicious of her giving in. It wasn't as if she could really fight it anyway. She'd already proven living on the streets of the city was far too tempting a thing to her nonexistence self-preservation.

He finally settled with a stiff nod before he left the room as abruptly as he'd arrived. No doubt off to terrorize the citizens into giving him whatever information he needed.

Emma let herself heave a sigh after he was gone.

Her suspicions about Malik's motivations for his strange purchases had been well founded after all. To his credit, he did not look particularly pleased with everything.

"My apologies, Emma. I was unsure of how to tell you, and I did not think he would bring it up in such a way." He cast a sour look the way the other man had gone. "But given your strange circumstances, I could not keep your existence from the master. He is a wise man. Stern, so mind your tongue, but fair. You have nothing to fear from him."

"I can't blame you for telling him about me." It wasn't as if she would have been able to keep quiet about someone claiming they were from another time. "Although a little warning would have been nice."

Malik gave her a loose shrug. "Would you have been any more agreeable about going?"

"Probably not." Especially if he had told her who her traveling companion would be. Like hell would she ever be pleased about that. But could he really expect any different? She'd finally felt like a routine had developed, like she'd gotten her footing back. Sure she was still in the wrong bloody world, but she'd created some familiarity with the immediate area. There was a reason she hated traveling.

"Despite his many faults, Altair is the best we have, he will see you safely there. And Al Mualim is knowledgable about many things. Perhaps there is something he knows that might help you get home." He didn't sound completely sure the Master would have the answers, but that he would be the most likely to have them.

"If you say so." Emma was already wary of this so called Master. Power had a remarkable ability to corrupt. She'd seen it enough for herself. Hell, gangs were originally started with the intent to protect where the police couldn't. Now they were public enemy number one. Could she really trust a man who had the power to order death on a whim? Malik trusted him, Altair seemed to trust him (not that that meant much), but damn it all if it didn't rub her wrong that there was only one puppet master behind all of this. Who kept him in check? Who made sure he followed their so-called Creed with every death he ordered?

It felt a lot like they were asking her to walk into a dragon's den and believe that the dragon was friendly.

At least Bilbo had home waiting for him on the other side of his dragon. There was no telling what awaited on the other side of hers.

Altair returned as the sky turned a brilliant shade of pink. He spoke quietly to Malik for some time. Emma managed to catch only a few snippets. Evidently Addin liked to flaunt his power by executing whoever he pleased for the smallest crime. Petty theft, prostitution, lying, assault of a city guard. He abused his power and people paid for it with their lives. Again, a man the world would be better without on the streets. He was certainly worthy of the death penalty, but still. No trial, no chance to defend himself. Emma would never get used to the idea, never wanted to get used to it.

The two men briefly discussed an unusual commotion by the western gate that left the streets rather devoid of guards for a time. Whatever had caused it was speculated on for a breath before Malik gave the assassin a feather and permission to end the target's life on the morrow.

The cop cast a glance over to the corner of the room where the leather bag that was supposed to be filled with her things sat empty. Amusedly, she wondered how willing Altair would really be to take her all the way to Masyaf if she wore her uniform. It would certainly be sure to draw attention at every turn. It was tempting to wear it. It'd definitely be easier to travel in than the excuses for clothing the women here wore anyway.

Despite the volatile air that seemed to strangle the atmosphere, the evening went relatively peacefully. Most likely due to the fact that no one said a word. The assassin seemed content to ignore their existence and spent his time in the other room doing whatever it was he did at night. Emma didn't know what to do with herself, and so went back to scratching into her journal, though her enthusiasm for it was greatly diminished.

Depending on how much of a mess Altair made, by this time tomorrow she could be gone from this place.

The feather tip tapped noisily against the pages, leaving light dots smattered across a dimly recognizable sketch of the New York City skyline. Nervous energy filled her at the thought of what the next day would bring.

"Emma." She glanced up at Malik. He gave her a dead stare, and it took a moment for her to realize her pen tapping had been loud enough for him to hear.

Feather freezing in place, she sent him a sheepish grin. Feather and journal were set aside. It was getting dark anyway, and the few candles were hardly enough to write by.

It was time for sleep, and then see what the dawn would bring.

Sleep, it turned out, was an elusive bitch that night. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours before rolling to her back with a huff. It was pitch black in her room, with no window to let in the light of the moon. It was also dead silent. Even after over a month in this world, the silence was still unnerving. New York was never quiet or dark. Of all the things that made this place a different world, it was this that made it the most alien.

She growled, cursing to herself as rest remained out of her reach. Sitting up, she rolled her head until her neck cracked. Even any sort of night vision was useless here, but she'd learned her way around well enough that she could shuffle her way to the door and down the stairs. Here there was the barest hint of light creeping in from the other room. Enough that she could walk half confidently over to the doorway. The hard stone floors were cool against her bare toes. The air was dramatically different from the day, so much so that her bare arms were almost chilled.

Malik still made comments whenever he happened to see how she'd cut the sleeping clothes he'd procured for her into something a little more comfortable for desert weather. Really, a little shoulder and leg was not that big of a deal, she'd made an effort to keep them from being too 'scandalous' for his sake. Still, it was amusing how pointedly he'd _not_ look at her when she made the mistake of stumbling out of her room in them. At least he'd be asleep right now.

Tiredly, she rubbed her face in her hands as she crossed the threshold into the other room. The fountain dripped cheerfully, the sound a pounding thunder in the otherwise silent room. Moonlight glowed off of the ripples, the brightness such a shock to her eyes it was temporarily blinding. She walked to beneath the hatch, which was open to the cool night air. The moon was full, blocking out the shine of all but the brightest stars around it. She could almost believe for a moment that it was the light pollution keeping the stars at bay, if she ignored what all of her other senses were telling her. Heaving an exhausted sigh, she resigned herself to the long hours before dawn, and what would no doubt be a trying day.

Turning, she started at finding herself being blatantly watched. Damn, she'd forgotten all about Altair sleeping out here. He hadn't moved an inch, didn't even seem to be trying to pretend to sleep. He had his back and head propped against the wall, one arm resting on a bent knee. His weapons were neatly laid to the side within easy reach. More surprisingly, the robes and hood were gone, tossed carelessly by the sword.

The moon cast a glow on his skin, making all the more dramatic the amber of his eyes. He watched her carefully, though his face was a neutral mask.

It was the first time she had seen him without the hood, could see the scars that crisscrossed across his chest. His hair was almost bordering on shaggy and stood out in every direction, as if it had been run through more than once.

Sleep, it seemed, wasn't coming to him easily either.

It didn't make her like him, but perhaps it meant that he couldn't brush off what he did as easily as he made it seem. Just maybe, he really was human.

Almost unperceptively, she tipped her head. She didn't expect him to respond as she started her return to her own bed. As she passed him, he returned the gesture.

Would they be on friendly terms come morning? Hell no. But at least in this brief moment, they shared the irritating inability to sleep when they so needed it.

The brief stint in the moonlight did not magically call upon the sandman, and it was the wee hours of the morning before she was finally able to catch any rest.

Morning dawned far too early. Her body was slow and sluggish to respond to her commands. The loss of her precious coffee every morning had been a hard one to bare. Malik had attempted to give her whatever their version of the drink was, but it had failed to have the same effect. While the worst was over, she still greatly felt the absence.

Altair was long gone by the time she managed to haphazardly pack the bag that had been provided for her. The Kevlar vest was strapped to the outside, like hell was that going to be left behind. Her uniform had certainly seen better days, but at least she'd had the chance to wash it.

Her bag hit the floor with a thump as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Malik glanced up from his book, raising a single brow at her choice in dress of uniform pants and her black tank top. She rolled her eyes as she wiggled the drab robe in her hand. "Don't worry, I'll cover up before I leave."

A rock sunk to the pit of her stomach at the thump from the other room. Belatedly, she realized the bells that had been ringing against her skull had not been in her head. Altair had done his job. It was time to leave.

Malik, having a better view of the other room from where he stood, scowled. "You are bleeding all over my bureau, novice."

Whatever the assassin's grumbled response was, Emma failed to catch it. It was enough to force Malik into moving, as he grabbed what was essentially his equivalent to a first aid kit and went to the other man's aid.

Perhaps they wouldn't be leaving so soon after all.

"What did you do, get hit by a blunt arrow?" Malik's voice snipped.

Emma's curiosity got the better of her. Following the Dai's path, she stepped through the doorway, scanning for this apparent strange injury.

Blood had soaked through the left half of his robes, stemming from the clean hole in his shoulder. A very familiar kind of hole.

She froze, staring at his injury as Malik cut away the stained robes. "How the fuck did you get that?"

The two men glanced her way, Malik raising a brow. "This type of injury is familiar to you?"

Altair hissed as the man prodded too close to the torn flesh. "I've never seen such a weapon before."

Emma pulled the strap of her tank aside, revealing a circular scar in much the same shape and place as Altair's. "It's a gunshot wound."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxX

Otto was pacing….again. Marcus was steadily beginning to fear for his life with every instance that he had to interrupt said pacing.

Operation Firewall was proving to be more of a headache than anyone had anticipated. While their team had successfully made the jump into the past (theoretically), nothing had changed. Either they had missed their chance when Altair left the city after killing Talal, or, as Kevin was so reliable at reminding everyone, history simply found a way to right itself.

Marcus always figured the Assassins were more like a hydra than a snake. When you removed a head, a new one simply replaced it. If Altair fell before his time, perhaps there was another that would have taken his place in history.

And yet, it was still _Altair's_ Codex, it was still his name plaguing Robert's journal.

Idly, Marcus wondered if somehow history was changed and it effected this timeline, if they would even realize it. How could they know if history changed when, if it did, it would have always been their history? If there were no assassins, there would be no Operation Firewall, there would be no time machine, and there would be no sending the hapless cop into the past. If their history changed with the successful assassination of Altair, what then, would prompt them to build the machine, so that it could be accomplished?

It was thoughts like this that plagued his mind at night and gave him monstrous headaches.

"Why are you suffering me with your presence?" Otto snarled, turning on his heel to face the intrusion to his inner ranting.

Marcus snapped his back ramrod straight, offering the file in his hand. "No news from Jerusalem, but we've discovered something interesting."

Otto took the file, glanced at it, and scowled. "So, the Harp men have decided to do their own investigating and we have another nosey cop to keep an eye on? How, exactly, is this important enough to bring to me?"

And it was moments like this that made Marcus warily eye the shadows of the room, waiting for Cross to end his life. These people had never heard the saying 'don't shoot the messenger' evidently.

"We managed to get ahold of the Harp men's medical records and ran analysis on their blood structures. They both have the markers for Eagle Sense. David's appears to be the sharpest of them all." He also had an impressive career as both a cop and a detective. He closed more cold cases than anyone Marcus had ever heard of. And he was sticking his nose into Abstergo's business.

He couldn't help but hope the man might get wise and look for his missing daughter elsewhere.

And yet….Marcus had his own daughter at home. Only five years old and already redefining how he saw the world. If anything happened to her….not a threat in the world would stop him from finding her.

Not for the first time, he found himself conflicted.

"We will deal with him if he becomes an issue. If you have nothing about the operation, leave me." Otto commanded, carelessly shoving the files back.

Marcus collected them and gladly left, more than ready to collect his things and go home to his family. What they were doing here….it was a necessary evil to make the world a better place, to make the world a _safe_ place for his daughter.

He passed the room with the machine, glowing an eerie blue in the moonlight cast through dark windows. A man's daughter had been sent through it. A father would never see his little girl again, and he didn't even know it. He wondered what the last thing they said to each other was. He hoped they hadn't fought.

Forcing his eyes away, he continued on. Family was his life. He would have to live with sacrificing someone else's family to keep his safe.

* * *

 **Captain:** _There we be! More...ah...drama for ya :D Yes, our favorite assassin was shot, mwahahaha. So, so many questions for our confundled cop, and answers so unwilling to be shared...for now. Please drop me a review to let me know if ya'll are still into this! Happy Halloween!_


	8. Blast from the PastErr Future

**Captain Alice Hook:** _What up!? Been a bit I know, one semester left woot woo! Finished the last one with a 3.5 so busting my butt paid off! Just got three more months to go before that degree is mine! Have a lot of papers/projects and a Thesis to do this semester so won't be updating again before it's over but figured I could get one up before things get crazy! Not the most exciting chapter in my opinion but necessary nonetheless. Enjoy!_

* * *

"A gunshot wound?" Malik blinked, looking between the wound and Emma's scar.

Hand going towards her belt, she pulled out the Glock. "Did the weapon look like this?"

Altair stared at it for short moment, teeth clenched. "Similar. It was longer. I never even heard it coming."

A suppressor then. What little noise it made would have been lost in the noise of the city. How the fuck did that happen? There was only one explanation of course, and it both excited and terrified her at the implication.

She wasn't alone in the past. But whoever was here with her had been targeting the assassin. Given the only way (that she knew of) into the past was through the machine at Abstergo, the probability that they worked for those psychopaths was high. Still….there could be a chance they would be on her side, could be able to get her home.

"Hold up." She stepped forward, forcing Malik to pause in his attempt to start stitching. Altair's back proved to be injury-free, which meant it was about to get a lot more painful for him. "The bullet is still in there, we have to get it out before you can patch him up."

The terrible part of her couldn't help but think perhaps there was some justice in this world after all.

Malik paused, peering closer at the wound. "I see nothing in there."

Ejecting the clip from her gun, she held out a single bullet for him to see. "The top portion is what gets shot. Small, but goes far quickly and can cause a lot of damage. If it stays in there it will poison his blood and kill him slowly."

Both men closely studied the intact bullet in her hand before Malik stepped to the side, motioning for her to take his place. Emma balked. Blood didn't bother her much, but it wasn't as if she was an expert at pulling bullets out of living bodies. "This is something from your world. Neither of us know what we are dealing with."

Altair did not look entirely confident in Malik's choice to hand the reins over to her either. Sucking in a breath, she realized that the Dai was right. He wouldn't be able to remove the bullet with one hand, she knew what she was looking for, and she wouldn't be able to just sit back and watch a man die in slow agony. Even if said man was an arrogant ass.

Luckily, this time had what was essentially tweezers, otherwise this would have been made that much more difficult. "Get him some leather to bite down on."

"I do not need it." Altair snapped, his voice and posture tense. With personal experience at the pain he was going through, Emma knew he was just playing the tough guy.

"He's going to need it." Malik procured the item quickly, and with a ferocious exchange of glares, got the assassin to bite into it.

Right, now to pretend that she knew exactly what she was doing. Unfortunately for Altair, he was well built. It was all solid muscle that the bullet had torn through and was now lodged in. Not only was this going to hurt like hell, but it was going to be a bitch while healing.

Their trip out of here may have just been put off for four weeks.

Sitting herself on the floor next to him, she braced her left forearm across his chest so that she could still work with her hand while keeping him from jerking forward too much. He watched every move with hawk-like intensity. It was more than just a little unnerving. "Make sure he doesn't jerk back."

Malik sat behind the assassin, bracing his own arm across his back. Altair was as pinned as they were capable of making him at the moment. Taking another deep breath, Emma pulled away the rag that had been keeping the bleeding at bay. Blood came forth quickly, running tracks down his chest. A large jug of water was among the supplies Malik had grabbed, and she used it to flush the wound enough that she could see.

Every muscle in his body was as taunt as a bow string. Her eyes flashed to his face before she went in with the tweezers and a small iron prong. If he was lucky, he might just not die of infection. His teeth clenched audibly the moment she touched torn muscle. The shows always made it look easy. As if the bullet would be bright and shiny amidst clear tissue. It was all a bloody mess, one thing undiscernible from another. Sweat poured from the assassin, and it took both of their strength to keep him from moving too much. No doubt he was using every ounce of self-restraint to keep as still as he was. Emma had no delusions that they would be able to hold him against his will.

The prong hit something solid, Altair jerked. Ah-ha, there was the little bitch. Careful not to move the prong, she flushed the wound again. In the brief moment the blood was washed away, she saw the dark colored mass she was looking for. It looked intact and compact, which was a huge relief. She knew she didn't have to skill to attempt removing a hollow point. Carefully aligning the tweezers, she got a grip on the metal and slowly pulled back.

"Stay still damn it." She snarled as she lost her grip on it with a rather violent jerk from the assassin. His responding growl was borderline animalistic.

It took a moment to find and get it again, but this time she kept her grip and he kept himself from tearing away. Air fled her lungs in relief as the bullet came free. It landed in the bowl with a satisfying _'clink'_.

"There, it's out, and I don't think it left any fragments." She was ready to back away and let Malik back at it, but instead found him holding the needle and thread out to her.

"It will be easier with two hands."

Damn it. A valid point, of course, but she hadn't exactly wanted to linger this close to the man for longer than absolutely necessary.

His blood was hot as it tracked down her arm, pooling onto the rags piled across her lap. He'd spit out the leather, and his teeth cracked against each other as the glowing needle pierced his skin. Emma really wished she was better at stitches.

"Tell me about the one who did this." She said after a painful silence. Malik busied himself with refilling the jug of water and fetching a bandage to properly wrap the assassin's shoulder.

Altair glanced at her, his expression carefully masked pain. "This has nothing to do with you."

His muscles flinched as she was less than gentle pulling the flesh together. "You were _shot_ with a weapon from _my_ world. I'd say this has everything to do with me. And they were specifically targeting you, which means that they studied you. They probably know when and where you're supposed to be for the rest of your life."

If he were currently capable, he might have shrugged flippantly. "Then I shall kill them."

Emma snorted, flushing the wound again so she could properly find the edges of skin to draw her needle through. "An enemy who's name and face you don't know, with a weapon you don't know how to face. Face it, you need my help. And I can't give it unless you tell me what you saw."

"What happened to the man who was willing to ask for my help just yesterday?" Malik questioned with a raised brow.

Altair's tone was less than flattering. "Asking you is one thing, she is another."

Emma pulled the string of his stitch tightly, his body flinched in response. "Are you seriously considering irritating the one who's patching you up?"

He gave her an annoyed look. "And for that, I thank you. But this is beyond you. My work is no business of yours."

The cop responded with a look that matched his own. "And yet going after criminals with exactly this kind of weapon was what I did for a living back home. You can't dodge a bullet, and if they have a silencer on their gun, you aren't going to hear it and be able to find cover. This isn't a bow where they have to go for center mass. A good shot will put a bullet between your eyes and you'll be dead before you know what hit you."

If the sole purpose of whoever was here was to kill the assassin, then it was entirely possible they had a rifle with them. All a sniper needed was a high place and patience. Given the number of towers in this city, the first requirement would not be difficult to attain.

"How do you face such weapons?" Malik finally broke in, glancing over at her bag of things left abandoned in the doorway. She'd shared much of what her things did, but she'd avoided details of the vest and her gun. For one, she hadn't quite trusted him yet, and she wasn't certain what the impacts could be on the future.

Evidently, whoever else was here gave no shits to that.

"The vest. It's called Kevlar, and in most conditions, it can stop a bullet from piercing your skin. At most you get a nasty bruise." Her fingers fumbled with attempting to make the final knot, the string made slick and hard to handle.

"And yet you've been shot." Altair responded dryly, eyeing the scar she'd shown off earlier. Emma rolled her eyes as she finally managed to get the damn knot secure. "The vest covers the vital parts. You were lucky your assailant was a bad shot. A few inches over and you wouldn't be here for this conversation. So, are you going to let me help or not?"

If she focused on the conversation, she could ignore the fact that she was forced to practically hug him to get the bandage wrapped in the right pattern to stay in place. Somehow, she didn't expect the idea of a sling to go over very well.

Altair was silent until the moment she fastened the bandage and leaned away. "There were three of them that I could see, though I suspect there were more. Each one of them held a weapon similar to your 'gun'. They attempted to use the chaos of my success to get close to me, I used it against them. I should have been out of their range. No bow can shoot so far. I was hit when I turned to determine if they were still following me."

Emma chewed her lip. Three or more of Abstergo's goons, for there was little doubt that was what they were, were here in the past with her. And for whatever reason, they had it out for the assassin.

She suddenly had the nagging sensation that this fight was larger than had been let on, and perhaps went on for longer than anyone had any idea of. Just what the hell had that crazy couple in her apartment gotten her into?

"Guns have a much farther range than bows. The bullet can go further and faster than any arrow. If you can see them, you are not a safe distance away." Even if he couldn't see them, but she wasn't going to attempt discussing rifles unless absolutely necessary. If all of the goons only had handguns, then it may work in their favor. At least they would have to be closer and within sight to have any chance at accuracy.

If Altair held any suspicion for her, it seemed to grow tenfold with her words. "It is sorcery."

Ah the magic claim, she wondered when that would come up. No doubt her technology certainly seemed like such. She was suddenly glad her phone had been taken. Any claim of being from the future would probably be ignored with something like that. She much preferred her skin un-crispy, thank-you-very-much.

"It is science and technology. It's what eight hundred years of brilliant men can come up with to make people better at killing each other."

Altair stared hard at her. "Eight hundred years?"

….Shit. "You didn't tell him?"

She raised her brows at Malik. Would have been nice to know that she needed to mind her words.

Malik raised a single shoulder as he tossed her a clean towel to wipe herself off with. At least the assassin's blood hadn't gotten into her clothing that she could tell, but her arms were covered in it. Jeezus, it looked as if she'd been elbow-deep in him or something.

"He is a novice, it wasn't his business to know details."

"Well he knows now." Emma huffed, regaining her feet and stretching out her back. She'd been hunching over the man's shoulder for longer than she'd realized.

"I know nothing, speak sense." Altair growled as he moved to his feet as well, shedding what was left of the previously white robes. His eyes were on Malik. "You said that she was from a strange place and potentially important to the brotherhood, not that she was addled."

Emma growled. "Hilarious. And here I was thinking all of you were addled for wanting to play pretend in 1191."

"This is hardly pretend." The assassin made a slight motion to his recent addition to his collection of scars.

Emma pursed her lips, holding up the Glock. "And this is obviously something far more advanced than anything you have in this time."

"It took some convincing for me to believe her." Malik interjected, leaning against the doorway while he rubbed at his stump with a frown. "And while it still seems impossible, we are far more advanced than our ancestors. It is possible that our descendants will somehow master what appears to be magic to us."

"Time travel is _supposed_ to be impossible in my time, too. The kind of thing invented only in stories to amuse people." She still had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that this could actually be the past. Science was not her strong suit, particularly physics. Like hell was she even going to attempt figuring out _how_ the machine sent her here. There were times she still questioned that it actually had.

Seeing a GSW with a victim who didn't rush for a hospital made it seem just a little more real.

Still, she wondered at who else was here. Perhaps they would be less aggressive towards her. Perhaps they would even know a way home.

If they worked for Abstergo, the probability they'd be willing to help her was slim to none.

"So you are from the future," Altair hardly sounded convinced and he glanced between the two with a look that suggested he wondered at what was in the water. "where they have these weapons and vest. How does one defeat them without the vest?"

It was less a question and more of an attempt to humor her, or at least that was how his tone came across. Emma gave him a pointed look. "By not getting shot."

The look she received for that remark was less than friendly. Worth it.

"We'll have to investigate discretely, find out how many of them there are, what they want, and what they're planning next. They'll have to be taken by surprise, when they're separated from their weapons. We won't win if it turns into a shootout and I need them alive." She idly tapped a finger to her chin, wondering at the best way to go about it all. They knew Altair's face, but it was impossible to know if they knew hers. Perhaps a disguise would work, cover the hair and she'd just be another face in the crowd.

"Nothing I do not already know how to do." The assassin had procured a clean rag and was using it to wipe away the blood that had coated his chest.

"I'm not talking about pummeling some poor bastard in an alley." Emma growled in return. "They are hunting you and know your face. This will require undercover work, wearing a disguise and blending with the rest of the crowd. You're injured too, they'll be looking for that."

"Just what are you suggesting?" Malik raised his brows, regarding her with a look that suggested he already knew and was preparing to argue against it.

"If they're as prepared as I assume they are, then they know your face as well, they may even know where this place is. I should go out. I can disguise myself well enough and I know what I'm looking for. Unlike some, I also know how to get information without drawing attention to myself." Her pointed look went ignored by the assassin.

"And how do we know that you are not in league with them? How do we know you will not bring them straight to our door?" Altair snarled, the apparent mistrust in her growing ever more.

"I would have shot you myself by now if I was with them, and I certainly wouldn't have spent the last hour saving your ungrateful life." She shot back, planting her hands on her hips. "We all know we don't have many options here. The people have gotten used to me, I can blend in and they don't have history to tell them what my next move is."

"They could be hunting you as well." Malik spoke quietly, his face pinched in thought.

Emma chewed her lip. "I know, but that's only if they knew I was even still alive. If they do, I doubt I'm a priority. They didn't come to the past to do what they could have done in my time."

No, killing her might be a bonus, but she was not their target. They might not even know if she survived the trip, or if she was here at all. Time was a fickle thing, and playing with it was an unpredictable endeavor.

"I do not need help doing my work." Altair growled as he slowly attempted to move his left arm. Emma scowled, if the idiot managed to tear his stitches, she would not be redoing them.

"Altair, you cannot even use your blade arm." Malik raised his brow challengingly. "Do not let arrogance cloud your judgement again, you are in no condition to investigate."

"And you trust her to?" Emma crossed her arms over her chest. Why oh why couldn't have she been dropped in with the Amazonian warriors? At least then she'd be around those that didn't disregard her abilities for the sole reason of her being a woman.

The Dai glanced between them, and the cop was not entirely thrilled with the long pause before he answered. "As she said, we do not have much of a choice. We either go in blind, or we trust her abilities."

"Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, Malik." Emma stated dryly.

"I may have more confidence if you ever demonstrated the ability to hold your tongue." He snapped back.

The woman rolled her eyes but made no comment. It wasn't as if it wasn't true, and it had gotten her into her fair share of trouble. Honestly, she was trying to work on that! Sometimes it was just…impossible to keep quiet, especially when confronted with the extraordinarily irritating. Grabbing the drab robe she'd used for venturing out in the city, she pulled it on, taking extra care that the hood completely covered her hair. As much as it made her cringe to do so in the oppressive heat, she pulled around the face cover, leaving only her eyes clearly visible. The people may have gotten used to her unusual looks, but it would take one glance for the Abstergo goons to notice a foreign face.

"What are you doing? You cannot go out there now, everyone is on high alert, the guards will be wary." Malik frowned, as if wondering how she could forget such a simple thing.

"It hasn't been long, the sooner I get to where it happened, the sooner I might discover something. The shooters might still be out looking to finish the job. This is when they'll be more likely to make a mistake and will be easier to find." Assuming, of course, that they weren't professional killers that had already disappeared into hiding. Professionals didn't like working with groups, that was how things got messy and complicated. Their redundancy would only help her. Looking for a single man in a crowd could be a challenge, looking for a handful less so. "Besides, the guards are on the lookout for a man, they've no reason to bother me."

Even the assassin's brows rose at that one, but the cop elected to ignore it. Yes the guards were corrupt and many were perverted and would take any chance to harass a woman, but the bell continued to toll, and that put their priorities on stopping the one who was lightening their pockets one death at a time.

"I'll be fine, I'll be back before sundown." Her heart pounded against her chest and her veins thrummed with excitement. Finally, _real_ work to be done, something she was comfortable with and knew well. It was too bad that some of the usual tricks like fingerprints wouldn't be useful here, but she didn't mind that too much. Identity would hardly help them here, they already knew who the culprits were, the only other people in this time with firearms.

Making a final adjustment to her cover, she headed for the fountain and the pain of an exit. Reaching for the first hold, a hand on her arm forced her to pause. Malik's look was one of concern, and his voice was low despite the fact that Altair had already gone to the other room. "Be careful, Emma. We cannot help you if you get into trouble out there."

She grabbed his hand, giving it a thankful squeeze. "I know."

He released her, stepping away to collect the assassin's bloodied robes with a barely concealed curse.

Emma hauled herself up to the roof, easily finding the handholds she'd practiced a hundred times. The sun was as unforgiving as always, heat radiating from the stone beneath her. The clothing was not quite as restrictive as she'd once thought, and there was a level of freedom in the anonymity of covering her face and hair. She was just another woman in the crowd to these people, no one to pay any attention to.

The guards were on alert, walking with their hands on partially drawn swords. Citizens gave them a wide berth and walked just a little bit faster to their destination. Emma eyed them all for a long moment from above before dropping down the ladder and joining them.

Patrols thickened in one direction, so the cop headed that way, weaving between people and swords with an ease born on New York City streets. The further she went, the greater the activity. Citizens became fewer and more skittish while the guards crowded every street and alley.

The longer she walked, the poorer the people appeared. Fine silk was exchanged for ratty cloth, vibrant colors disappearing into dull browns. This was territory she hadn't explored. Every path lead to somewhere new. Care would have to be taken to prevent getting lost. It'd do her no good to aimlessly wander among the poor district, where crime among the people and the guards grew exponentially. She paused at the rapid increased activity in the open square just ahead. Access was blocked by a line of guards with swords drawn. Beyond them, a horse-drawn cart already loaded with several bodies creaked in protest to the adding of another. So, this was where it had all gone down.

Reading footprints was pointless, the mass of citizens that had fled the scene had already trampled whatever tracks may have been made at the time of the shooting. Now it was just a matter of figuring out which alley the man had been shot in. This one was the main road, somehow she doubted that would be his preferred method of exit. Backtracking, she found a side alley wrapped in darkness from the shadow of the wall that surrounded the city. Definitely an ideal route for an assassin.

The guards blocking the entrance to the square watched her carefully, their grips on sword pommels adjusting in preparation. Emma hoped she appeared harmless enough, lightly running her hand down the wall. The stone was rough and warm under her fingertips, sand and dust sliding away at the disturbance.

Her fingers hit a cool spot, little flecks of moisture. She looked closer, finding a high velocity back splatter. This was Altair's blood, and this was the spot where he'd been shot. It was closer to the guards than she would have liked, and she was careful to attempt to disguise her snooping. She didn't know her history enough to know if these people were anything like the English, and she wasn't particularly interested in finding out by being accused of witchcraft.

Sharp commands rang out, a flurry of movement and activity, and the guards turned their backs to her and walked away. They flanked the cart with the bodies as it left the square, followed by the other guards from the alleyways. Only two remained behind, though as soon as the procession disappeared from view, the two men leaned against a building and began speaking quietly to each other. Emma blinked, cautiously stepping out into the square. They did not react to her presence, and other citizens soon began to trickle back. Death was shocking when it occurred, but it was quickly forgotten.

At least this made her investigating a little easier. Standing next to the blood spatter, she gauged where the line of sight had to be. They had been out of bow range, which as far as she could guess was somewhere around sixty yards depending on the archer. That meant that the gunmen had been on the opposite side of the square, in the only alley with a clean firing lane to this spot.

Ducking her head and careful to keep her hands covered by the sleeves, she slowly, almost aimlessly walked across the square. Her eyes scanned quickly, looking for anyone who seemed interested in the area, or who headed for the place that the assassin had been hit. No one did. Reaching the target alley, she let her eyes drift over the turned up sand, shifting back and forth so that the reflection of the sun might cast differently. There! Light glinted off the ground in the way only metal shone. She scooped it up quickly, continuing with her walk as if she'd simply tripped. There was no telling if someone else may return for the very same purpose.

In her palm was the cool brass metal of a bullet casing. The shooters had fired from there and that was about as much information as she would be able to glean from here. This was the poorer side of the city, and as unfamiliar as she was with these streets, it was the people that were the problem. None of them had the money or the leisure to learn another language and Emma was still rather helpless at Arabic. Hopefully it was a similar case with the shooters, in which they'd be heading for the rich district, where some, particularly merchants, had a grasp of the English language.

It was remarkably uneventful on the way back to familiar grounds. The guards had begun to relax, keeping an eye out for an injured man in white but otherwise making no great effort to look for him. The market was as busy as ever, if a little more so. Voices were louder than they'd ever been, cheerful and exuberant. The death of Altair's target seemed to have lifted a weight from the city.

Finding a spot that gave a good view of the entire plaza, she squinted, focusing hard until the pressure behind her eyes built and pounded. The world faded into dull shades of grey. Little marks of red showed where the guards were moving among the crowd, but no other colors revealed themselves. Squeezing her eyes shut, Emma cursed and massaged her forehead, a weak attempt to release some of the pain that gathered there. The light was a little brighter when she looked out at the people again, the sound a little louder and all of it just a bit more grating. What a waste of using the sixth sense.

Men were not so willing to start a conversation with a strange woman in this place unless he was trying to tempt her into buying whatever junk he was selling. Women, however, were just as they would always be, gossips. She could see the gatherings of wives and daughters, talking amongst each other with little care who overheard. Most of them were speaking their native tongue, but a few confused words and an apology from the foreign wife of a soldier, and they were all too willing to switch to the English they knew and pull her into the conversation.

The assassination was the topic of choice, and the details were as reliable and ever changing as any eye witness account could be. He was tall, he was short, hair of spun gold, hair as black as night, his eyes were blue, his eyes were red like a demon, he was Muslim, he was Christian, and on and on. There was one thing that they could all agree on, it was definitely a man that killed Majd Addin and released them from the man's reign of murder, and he'd been injured by a group of guards that arrived late, cutting off his escape and wounding him with a foreign bow.

The opinions on it varied, as they would when it came to vigilantes in the future. Some thought he was just another killer, while others praised what he did and claimed that he had just saved countless lives. One woman told of being assaulted by the guards once and what could only be the same man saved her from them. She had ruby red cheeks as she confessed to the giggling ladies about what a fine looking man he had appeared to be, and how she wished her own husband was so well built. Emma quickly turned a snort into a cough.

Once satisfied with their gossip of the mystery assassin, their focus turned to the new girl, asking about her husband and if perhaps they knew him. Emma scrambled to find an escape, before the youngest, the one who 'admired' Altair, mentioned seeing her before with a one-armed man.

Hello escape, so nice of you to drop by. "Oh yes, that is him. Oh! Oh no, I was supposed to meet him at the fruit seller's stall. Dear me he will be quite cross. I apologize, I must go."

The women quickly shooed her away to fulfill wife-ly duties and Emma sighed in relief at putting distance between her and the horde. There was only so much submissive pretending she could take before she'd start twitching. Glancing up at the sky, she figured it was close enough to head back. The sun was slipping towards the horizon, casting long shadows and encouraging everyone to finish their business quickly. The crowd had begun to thin, and it would be dusk by the time she made it back to the Bureau.

Slipping towards the edge, the cop began making her way down familiar paths.

"It wasn't a lethal shot."

Emma froze, scant inches from passing into view of a tiny alley rarely ever occupied by more than drying clothes.

"I'd like to see you do better when the bastard is in a dead sprint." Another voice growled. There was no mistaking the American accent.

The cop had found her shooters. Or at least two of them.

There was no telling where the others might be, if they were watching from somewhere that she was in plain sight to. So she slid down to rest on a bench, leaning her head back against the wall. An impatient wife waiting for her husband to finish his business.

"Doesn't matter, he'll either die from infection or we'll get him when he leaves the city." A third voice, luck just may be on her side.

"He'll be heading to Damascus, we can take him out on the road if he makes it that long." The second voice came again.

"He goes to Masyaf first, you idiot, and he was supposed to leave tomorrow morning, but I doubt he'll be moving quite so quickly now." First Voice returned, markedly gruffer than the rest.

"How the fuck are we going to know when he leaves? He's not going to stick to the same schedule we know anymore, and I don't particularly feel like sitting here until we get word he's killed another target." Third guy had a lighter tone, with the hint of a more western lit.

"We'll have to slip into the patrols on the gates, we'll take him when he leaves the city."

"And the woman?"

Every muscle in the cop's body went stiff, locked hard and prepared to bolt for her life should the need arise.

"What about her?"

"Otto was surprised she made it this long. Should we do something?"

"What the fuck do you think she's going to do? Bitch is probably locked up in a brothel. Letting her live is a worse fate than just killing her."

Well, that answered a lot. Somehow Abstergo knew that she was still alive, but they had no idea exactly where she was or who she'd been around. They'd written her off and cared nothing for her, she was not their target. Only Altair was in the crosshairs, and they knew exactly where he was heading next and who his target would be, including how the assassination would take place.

"Enough of this, we need to rejoin the others and get our plan into motion. The assassin won't be moving tomorrow but we'll need to be ready to join the guard the day after."

Footsteps crunched against dirt, coming closer. Emma jolted up and away, moving to stand next to a pair of women deep in conversation. They ignored her, which suited the cop just fine. Three men stepped out of the alley, dressed as common guards. Of course, that was why she had missed them! She'd just dismissed them as the average, threatening soldiers. Damn it all it was so obvious that that would be their best disguise.

The swords at their hips looked real enough, but the bulges under the robes at their sides indicated that they were armed with far more. Their faces were unassuming. Dark hair, dark beards, and tanned skin, the perfect recipe for allowing them to blend with the other guards and to make them nearly impossible to pick out when mixed with the others.

Well it was a good thing for her and bad for them that she had seen their faces and had her sixth sense. Uniforms and the right hair color wouldn't be enough.

Eyeing them, she contemplated following, to see where their hideout was. No, it was nearing full dark. If they went out of the rich district, she'd never be able to find her way back before daylight.

She did stay long enough to watch where they left from, tracking their path until they rounded a corner and disappeared. In the darkening quiet of oncoming night, she pulled off the face cover and hood and made her way back to the Bureau.

"What delayed you?" Malik's voice was tired as it reached her before she'd even steadied herself from landing.

"I have good news and bad news about our bad guy situation." She grinned, rather pleased with herself as she stripped off the rest of the robe.

Altair raised a brow at her from his position reclined into a stack of pillows, still shirtless with his robes now hanging over the fountain. They were soaking wet, but appeared to have been cleaned of most of the blood.

"Bad news first, they know he's hurt and exactly where his next targets are going to be. There's also definitely at least five of them, if not more, and they're disguised as guards." It was Malik's turn to raise his brows.

"And the good news?"

"It didn't sound like they knew about this place. They know he's heading to Masyaf next so they're plan is to slip into the rotation of guards on the gates to the city. They're reluctant to attempt taking him on on the road. Get through the gates and they shouldn't be a bother until he goes for his next target in Damascus." The robe went into a messy pile next to the pack that hadn't been moved from where she dropped it earlier that day.

"I go to Damascus next then?" Altair spoke, his voice holding…something that she couldn't name to it.

She looked down at him, cocking her head slightly. "Yes, according to my history, anyway."

Perhaps now he wouldn't, perhaps he'd go somewhere else and she would have completely destroyed history just by telling him. Or maybe it would all happen the same anyway. Time travel was too much of a mind-fuck to ever attempt deciphering.

"That did not sound like good news." Malik mused, a flaming stick in his one hand as he used it to light more candles.

"The good part about it is that they know they shot him, they expect him to be laid up for a bit, so they won't be on the gate until the day after tomorrow." Her eyes met the assassin's. "Which means you have a twenty-four hour window to get out of here before it becomes a lot more difficult."

"Which means _we_ have a twenty-four hour window. I cannot return to Masyaf without you." His tone was flat as he sat up, almost managing to suppress a wince as he moved his arm just a little too much.

Emma planted her hands on her hips. "You're hardly in any condition to get anyone but yourself out safely."

"He is in no condition to get anyone out. Altair, you should stay and heal before attempting to make the journey to Masyaf." Malik eyed the other man, giving a pointed look as another grimace passed over the assassin's face.

"If I stay to heal then they will have guns on every gate, and the Master is expecting me with the woman. We should leave at dawn, when the gates are opened." If he had planned on standing, he didn't follow through with it, rather, he shifted to lean his back against the wall, muscles straining.

"Or you stay long enough to heal and they'll think you somehow slipped past them and head to Damascus and _you_ can explain to your master why there was a delay." She knew very little of the man, but what little she did she did not like. In her experience, whoever was referred to as the 'master' was not nearly so selfless and good-intentioned like their followers believed.

"Or I find them and kill them."

Emma didn't bother trying to disguise her snort. "Please, you couldn't beat a toddler in this state, let alone well-trained mercenaries."

He gave her a once over, seeming to find something amusedly lacking. "I could beat you easy enough."

She rolled her eyes. The arrogance of men knew no bounds across time or space. "As much as I would thoroughly enjoy proving you wrong, I don't make a habit of fighting the hobbled."

Malik heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is going nowhere. Get some sleep, the both of you, and we will discuss this in the morning."

Emma didn't want to wait, she was too wired to just leave it unresolved and sleep. Altair was injured, for once she had the advantage and he just _might_ be receptive to some sense. A slim chance, but more than usual.

Malik was right though, and he did look exhausted. In some attempt to keep the peace, he was always sure to be the last to bed.

The blonde chewed her lip for a moment before giving a little nod of defeat. "In the morning then."

She waited a tick longer before breaking her gaze away from the assassin and headed for the other room. Pausing in the doorway, she sent a grin to Malik. "Oh, one other thing. If the women here spread rumors like they do in my time, then by the end of the week the entire district will think I'm your wife. Sweet dreams, dear."

Her hand rose and pat his chest while she gave him a cheeky wink before heading towards the stairs and her own room. To his credit, Malik simply rolled his eyes and batted her hand away.

"Even I would not wish such a fate upon you." She heard Altair's voice as she reached the bottom of the steps. There was a note of humor to his tone that actually made her pause. What was this? The man actually possessed a sense of humor? When the hell did that happen?

For a moment she did not think Malik would respond, but when he did, she could hear the grin that was stretching his lips. "I may for you."

Perish the thought.

* * *

 **Captain:** _Yeah, no modern section this time, but it will return as the plot moves forward, and we're finally getting into it! Yep, our dear short-tempered lady and our favorite assassin will be leaving Jerusalem next chapter! That's when things will get really fun ;) As always, please drop me a review to let me know what you like, what you don't like, what you hope to see, or what you think could be improved! Now to dive into this final semester... *takes deep breath*_


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